


The Seventh Tree

by Clocks, RaelynnMarie



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Character Death, Desert AU, Fluff, Happy Ending, Humour, M/M, Mentions of Slavery, Mutism, One instance of cross-dressing, Reverse Big Bang Challenge, Romance, This is essentially a Bollywood AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-10
Updated: 2012-08-10
Packaged: 2017-11-11 20:55:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/482803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clocks/pseuds/Clocks, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaelynnMarie/pseuds/RaelynnMarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik has served Shaw, ruler of the desert kingdom Genosha, for years as one of his Elite Knights. His life of unquestioning obedience changes when he meets a man in the strangest of circumstances who is not at all what he seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by the amazing Raelynn, my co-conspirator and a talented artist. She was so receptive to my ideas, and she also cheered me on and encouraged me every step of the way. Thank you for being so wonderful to work with. I had a lot of fun.
> 
> I also could not have done this without my chief betas [arcapelago](http://archiveofourown.org/users/arcanewinter/pseuds/arcapelago) and [xsilverdreamsx](http://archiveofourown.org/users/xsilverdreamsx/pseuds/xsilverdreamsx). Both of them hashed out story points with me, picked out plot holes and suggested wonderful ideas for the fic. Thank you for dedicating so many hours of your time to help a friend, and for not clobbering me over the head despite my excessive whining.
> 
> Many thank yous as well to spicedpiano and pookaseraph for looking over the fic at some point and making wonderful suggestions that vastly improved it.
> 
> A big thank you to the mods of the Reverse Big Bang as well, for co-ordinating everything so smoothly and granting my requests for a late posting date. Your tireless efforts are appreciated by all who took part.
> 
> And last but not least, a big hug and thank you to the wonderful people of the RBB chatroom. They made this whole experience fun and it wouldn’t have been the same without everyone cheering on one another, cracking silly jokes and taking part in hundreds of word wars. My love and hugs to spicedpiano (she gets thanked twice because she’s awesome), Miya, marimo, Microsaur, nekosmuse, marourin, palalife, afrocurl, Unforgotten, nagasasu, yaegaki, smitty and everyone else who has been in the chat at some point.  
>    
>  **The poetry quoted at the beginning of each chapter is all by[Rumi](http://sufipoetry.wordpress.com/poets/rumi), a mystic Sufi poet, unless otherwise stated.**

_From the beginning of my life, I have been looking for your face.  
But today I have seen it._

* * *

 

Erik was watching the house burn. They had gotten to the Marko estate a few hours too late; Lord Marko and his son Cain were long gone, along with the rest of the family and the embezzled gold. From the staff quarters behind the house, Erik could hear the shouts of Azazel and his men rounding up the last of the servants who were in the midst of fleeing. Erik didn't know where they would want to run; Marko's estate was right at the edge of the kingdom, with the desert at its doorstep. The only discernible options for the servants would be to wander the desert, or flee to the neighbouring estate belonging to Stryker, who was rumoured to be an even crueler master.

Shielding his eyes from the blazing afternoon sun, Erik squinted into the distance. He could already make out faraway figures trudging through the sand in panic, bearing their meagre belongings on their heads like leaf-cutter ants. He was willing to wager that those were the higher level servants, prone to eavesdropping and privy to gossip that their lower counterparts wouldn't know. They must have been tipped off that Shaw had sent Erik and his men on their way. Erik's hands tightened on the reins of his horse, and beneath him Magneto let out a low whinny. He absently brushed a soothing hand across her back.

"Everyone's gone," Azazel called out as he rode up to Erik, his own magnificent red steed rearing away from the smoke and soot carried over by the wind. "Well, except for three servants who were locked up in the back."

Erik's mouth tightened. If there had been anyone of importance, Azazel would have already said so. "Make sure they're seen to. Otherwise, are we done here?"

Azazel cast an uncharacteristically doubtful glance towards the staff quarters behind him. "I think you'll want to see this."

They dismounted, tying their horses to a few nearby palm trees before entering by the back door, which hung askew by its broken hinges. The staff quarters were sparse and rundown, and Erik wrinkled his nose at the smell of something fishy rotting in the kitchen. He would never allow his own staff to live in such inhumane conditions.

The three remaining servants were huddled together in the communal living room. There was an old couple in plain yellow garb, trembling as they held each other, probably too slow to have fled with the others. Bracing a protective arm over them was a completely veiled young woman, feet apart, chin tilted up in defiance. Only her eyes were visible, and Erik caught a glimpse of bright, angry blue lined with dark kohl.

And then he looked closer at her robes.

They were black silk with gold trim, and along the hem was a very familiar, intricate pattern of golden crescent moons of three different sizes, meant to represent al-Barakh, al-Bilan and al-Mooq. Erik stepped forward and peered closer at the print, confirming his suspicions. It was exactly the same as the pattern on his mother's robes, except that hers had been red and purple, signifying her high rank in the clan. Azazel's insistence on him seeing the servants suddenly made sense.

Erik's eyes flicked up to meet the young woman's. "Which clan are you from?" His B'oktuan was rusty, but the traders at the market who still spoke the old dialect understood him well enough.

"I think she's a mute," Azazel said from behind him. "We tried to question her earlier but she just kept gesturing angrily at us."

"Tell me the name of your clan," Erik said, this time in Genoshan. The young woman remained silent, but Erik didn't miss the way she edged just a little closer to the elderly couple.

"Please, sir, we are not affiliated with any clan," the old man said, his grip tight on his wife. "I work in the stables, my wife in the kitchen."

They were both trembling too hard to be lying. Erik tilted his head at the veiled woman. "And yourself?"

"She really doesn't speak," the old woman said this time, her voice almost a whisper. Erik had to lean in to hear her words, and this made her shrink back in fear even more. "I think she is one of the harem girls."

Erik didn't respond. The veiled girl still kept her gaze on him, steady and unafraid. Her eyes, though. Erik thought of the deepest lake he had ever seen, back at the oasis near his village, where a young boy had once drowned. "Do any of you know where Lord Marko has fled to?" he asked.

All three servants shook their heads.

Glancing at his men, Erik gave them a nod. Azazel nodded back, alert and poised as always, while behind him, Janos' lips had thinned in annoyance. "Get the horses ready," Erik told them, watching as his men filed out. He cast a quick glance around the quarters: it had been spared the fire that had engulfed the main house, but ash and smoke were now starting to filter in through the windows.

Now the couple and the girl were huddling closer, but Erik raised a reassuring hand. "We will take you into the city if you wish it. Do you have a place to stay?"

The couple just stared at him, their brows furrowed in confusion. "We are not going to be captured and sold?" the old man asked tentatively.

It made Erik wonder just how many labour laws Marko had been flagrantly disregarding. "Do we look like slave raiders? We're not barbarians." His expression must have been exasperated enough because he could see the young woman's stance relaxing slightly, while the elderly couple exchanged a vexed look.

After a hushed discussion with his wife, the old man finally said, "We have relatives we can stay with in the city."

Erik's gaze flickered over to the veiled woman. Doubt had at last crept into her eyes, lines of tension creased around them. He knew what he must have looked like to her: dressed entirely in black, his steel sabre in its leather scabbard slung over his right hip. With no royal or military insignia, Erik could easily be a rogue mercenary, or even a desert bandit.

He glanced out of the window, and even from this distance he could make out the beginnings of a sandstorm on the horizon. Plucky as she might be, she wouldn't get far.

She shifted under his gaze, and he couldn't take his eyes off the pattern of her robes. So similar to the red and purple ones he kept in a chest under his bed, similar enough to cause a tight ache in his throat.

Clearing it carefully, Erik spoke in B'oktuan this time. "If you don't have anywhere to go, you can come with us. Or stay here and be picked up by slave raiders. Your choice." The couple stared uncomprehendingly at him, but the veiled woman looked alert, considering.

After what seemed like an eternity, she carefully nodded.

***

It was an hour's ride to the city, and they rode hard to escape the oncoming sandstorm. Azazel and Janos each bore one half of the elderly couple on their horses, while the veiled woman, after her initial reluctance, rode with Erik. He _had_ considered searching her for hidden weapons, but when he had advanced towards her, he hadn't missed the fear in her eyes, and the old couple had protested loudly as well, citing a few of the many laws that protected the modesty of women. Erik had backed off, fighting back a smile. It would be amusing if they knew he was the one who had suggested these very same laws to Shaw.

Without further ado, the woman had mounted Magneto and sat in front of Erik, primly clutching onto the saddle. But once Magneto went into a full speed gallop, Erik had to brace an arm around the woman to keep her from falling off. An accidental brush made Erik uncomfortably aware that she was rather flat-chested for a dancer, all lean muscle and nothing like the soft, bosomy women Shaw kept in his harem. Erik forced away the grim possibility of malnutrition, making a mental note to get some food into her as soon as possible. He did not relish the idea of discovering whatever else Marko had gotten away with in regards to mistreating his servants.

Once they reached the city limits of Genosha, they dropped off the old couple first with their relatives somewhere in the old quarter. Erik briefly wondered if the veiled girl might follow them, but she remained on his horse, her eyes shielded by the intricate headscarf, ever enigmatic. They continued onwards to the palace, entering by the west gate to avoid attention and fanfare. It was dark enough that the first moon was already out, but not the other two.

Alex was waiting for them outside the stables. "Let me guess, Marko--" he trailed off when he spotted the veiled girl on Erik's horse, his eyes widening. "Who's that?"

"Your grandmother," Janos said serenely as he handed over his steed to a waiting stable boy, not at all affected by Alex's scowl of displeasure.

Azazel's chuckle was low and gravelly. "The girl is the last of Marko's servants, she had nowhere to go," he said by way of explanation.

"Taking in strays now, are we?" Alex said, which was quite rich, considering his background and how Azazel had rescued him and his brothers from the streets. But when Erik shot him a chastising glance, Alex was helping the girl down from Magneto, regarding her with soft, sympathetic eyes, so Erik held his tongue.

Another stable boy appeared with canteens which they took turns passing around, and as the girl discreetly lifted her veil to free her mouth for a drink, Erik caught a flash of red. "Nice mouth on that one," Azazel muttered. Erik wasn't even aware he had been watching.

Erik forcefully dragged his eyes off her. "She must be wearing rouge," he said shortly, refusing to be enticed.

Once they brushed most of the dust and dirt off, Erik left the veiled girl in Alex's custody. "I'll be back once we find a place for you," he told her. She didn't nod, didn't signal yes or no, and Erik wasn't quite certain whether she would still be there when he returned. Which was fair enough, servants ran off all the time, but finding someone from his mother's clan was very rare.

"Wait here for me," he told her, but she was already turning to watch Alex brush down the horses.

***

Shaw was still in his dark green prayer robes when Erik and his men filed into the study, and he gave them a benign smile. "Leave us," he told his attendants, who bowed and left the room, silent as ghosts. Once the door closed, he looked expectantly at Erik. "What of the House of Marko?"

Erik's fists tightened. Whenever there was bad news, Shaw preferred the bandage to be ripped off quickly. "Marko was tipped off," Erik said. "By the time we got there, he had set fire to his own home, and only the servants were left. None of them knew anything."

His smile slipped. "And the gold?"

Erik shook his head.

Drawing in a deep breath, Shaw started to pace very slowly across the magnificent B'oktuan carpet on the floor, which had been a present from Erik for the previous Lunar Festival. Azazel and the rest of the men waited, breath held as taut as a sitari string. But Erik knew Shaw better than the rest of the men, and Shaw's anger was never explosive and unpredictable. It was cold and calculated, the freezing burn of bare skin pressed against ice. Shaw simply continued to pace, deep in thought, and Erik rested his gaze instead on the large oil painting above the fireplace, a commanding portrait of Shaw decked out in all his war finery.

"I'll send word out to our allies to keep an eye out for fugitives," Shaw said at last, his mouth a tight, displeased line. A casual flutter of the hand meant they were dismissed, for now, but Erik fully expected to be reprimanded in private another day.

On the way out, Erik bumped into Ororo with a basket of laundered veils, and he caught her by the arm, remembering his other problem waiting out by the stables. "Do you need a serving girl?" he asked her. "Azazel found a woman who has just lost her master."

Ororo sighed, her hand on her hip. "I'm sorry, Erik, but the staff quarters are full as it is, what with the extra help we've taken in for the festivals."

"Oh." Erik thought for a while. There was a spare room in the women's wing, next to Raven's quarters. "I'll take her into my household, then. But I don't think she will stay long."

Ororo shot him an amused sideways glance. "Why do you always scare your women off, Erik?" she asked, before continuing on her way. She probably had not meant for her words to sting, but after having Marko slip through his fingers, Erik wasn't quite in a disposition to be teased.

He was startled out of his sour mood when he returned to the stables and saw the veiled woman still waiting there, feeding a bag of oats and rusks to Magneto. He tried to mask his surprise by frowning. "Well, the palace has more than enough servants, so you're coming home with me."

The woman simply nodded, caressing Magneto's velvety nose.

***

Erik had ten acres of land outside the citadel, and it was where he retreated to when he had finished a call of duty, or one of Shaw's special 'tasks'. Over the years he had built himself a large, extensive domed house of stone and red brick, the same fiery colour as Azazel's steed. It was big enough to house himself, his servants, and guests (who were rather infrequent, so the unused rooms grew musty until Darwin started using them for linen storage). To the west of the house lay a vast garden that grew almost every local vegetable, from the humble common stewleaf to the highly sought-after lobster-root, a favourite of Raven's.

Behind the garden, Darwin kept a henhouse, as well as some goats that provided them with plenty of milk. Erik did not particularly like drinking it, but he _was_ partial to the soft, pale cheese that the milk yielded, taking it with bread and the dark local honey Darwin traded for at the market sometimes.

Travellers who were passing by and seeking temporary hospitality - shade, a drink, gossip - had somehow nicknamed Erik's estate ' _La Maison Rouge_ ', and the name had stuck. "Go along Market Road, until you see _La Maison Rouge_ , then turn left," locals would say while giving directions to the Pilgrim Trail. "The head servant will give you a meal if you play a game of dice or two with him." Erik knew of this; he had reprimanded Darwin before for being over-generous with strangers, but he could hardly fault a man who ran his household so efficiently otherwise. It was hard to get good help these days.

Erik wondered now at the silent girl seated in front of him, her scarves fluttering in the wind and in his face as they rode. Would she fit in with his household? Raven would be welcoming enough, but Angel took time to warm up to other women, wearing her distrust proudly like a sash. Erik wasn't worried about Darwin, who had an unnatural ability of making everyone feel at ease, and the other house servants would usually follow his lead.

They reached the estate just after full dark, the third moon already high in the inky sky. Erik was exhausted and in need of a hot bath, and he was sure the girl would appreciate the same. He dismounted Magneto first, then helped her down.

Darwin was lighting the last of the lamps by the main doorway, and his face split into a grin when he spotted Erik. "Back so early! I did not expect you so fast." His gaze fell upon the veiled maiden. "A new addition to the household?"

Erik's exhaustion was sudden, bone-deep; he found himself itching to wrench away from that burning, scrutinizing gaze of hers that had haunted him all day. "She had nowhere to go," he said simply. "She's mute, by the way. Get the girls to prepare a bath and clothes for her."

Darwin nodded, putting the torch aside. "You'll want one too, right?"

"Of course, I do not pay you to laze around all day," Erik said dryly, and Darwin snorted, shaking his head. The girl's eyes were now flitting back and forth between them, shaded and wary. Erik didn't blame her; a master and servant talking as equals must have been confusing.

"Come with me," Darwin said gently to her, and Erik was left in the hallway, watching them in the flickering light of the lamps, Darwin's hand calm and easy on her arm.

***

The screams roused Erik when he was nodding off in the bath.

He jerked awake, reflexively grabbing the dagger he kept on the table beside him. The shouts and shrieks were coming from the women's bathhouse next door. He climbed out in a hurry, dripping wet, and grabbed the woollen towel Darwin had laid out for him, wrapping it around his waist. He sprinted towards the women's quarters, the towel flapping against his damp legs.

Angel was already hovering outside the doorway of the bathhouse, craning her neck to watch the commotion. She made way for Erik as he darted inside, immediately asking her, "What's going on?"

"There's a man in there," she said incredulously, and Erik's first thought was that they had caught a peeping tom.

The women's bathhouse was smaller than the men's, and it also felt far more claustrophobic, thanks to Raven. She kept an incredible assortment of bath oils and soaps in here that the female servants shared, storing vats and tubs filled with cloying moringa oil, creamy Alkmaar jasmine soap and a hundred other exotic scents that only served to torture Erik's sinuses. He stepped around several of these vats now, approaching the small crowd of women who were shouting and scolding a pale, huddled figure in the middle. Raven, it seemed, was leading the pack. Beside her, Erik could see a tub of steaming jasmine-scented bathwater that had been prepared for the newcomer, but it remained untouched, the water rapidly cooling.

"What in God's name--" Erik stopped. Raven was angrily holding up the black and gold robes of the mute servant, but in front of her stood a naked man, hands covering his crotch. When his kohl-lined eyes met Erik's, everything fell into place.

"You..." Erik pointed the dagger at him, and the man flinched slightly.

"How did you not check whether she was a woman?" Raven said accusingly, holding up the robes as if to emphasize her point.

"Am I to check the genitals of every person who enters the house?" Erik retorted, causing a nervous titter among the watching girls. "Has he said anything?"

"Still a mute, I believe." But Raven's stance had softened, her sharp eyes raking over the naked man. He was around her height and unusually pale, paler than even Raven who spent the majority of her time dancing indoors. His dark hair was a little longer than Erik's, bangs falling into his eyes. He shook them away, staring warily at the small crowd huddled around him. His hunched, weary posture reminded Erik of a cornered old dog, beaten and trapped but ready to bite its way out.

"All right, enough," Erik said at last, picking up a nearby towel and tossing it to the man. "You're coming with me."

***

Darwin managed to procure a tunic and pair of drawstring pants that fit the man, and even then they hung a little loosely on him, the old clothes of a servant who had left to get married. The man was demolishing a bowl of hot stew now, making Erik wonder when he had eaten last. He avoided looking in Erik's direction, keeping his gaze strictly on his food. The kohl had been washed off, and without it, his eyes looked brighter now, sharper.

Once the bowl was scraped clean, Erik asked, "Do you want some more?" 

The man hesitated, but Darwin wordlessly pried the bowl from his hands and went to ladle in more of the lamb stew. The man only paused for a second when the bowl was set back down in front of him, diving in as though it were his first helping. Erik and Darwin exchanged a look.

It was too late to send this man back to the palace for further questioning, and Erik had already alerted his guards to watch over the newcomer. "He can sleep in my room tonight," Darwin said, which really meant, _I'll keep an eye on him, he's not going anywhere._

"Fine," Erik said, and he really did mean it. He was tired, he was aching, and so far, the man had not given him any cause to be wary. Once he was done eating, Darwin led him out of the kitchen and down the dark corridors leading to the men's quarters, speaking in a low, soothing voice. The man turned, once, eyes glittering like a cat in the dim light. He gave Erik a single, sharp nod, then turned around the corner and disappeared.

That night, Erik dreamt of an oasis, its lake so deep that it seemed bottomless.


	2. Chapter 2

_You're the road, and the knower of roads,  
More than maps,  
more than love._

* * *

There was an argument the next morning over breakfast. Darwin wanted their new guest to stay, claiming that they were understaffed since Samid had left. However, Raven thought the man would be better off at the palace, training to be a soldier or a palace guard, and Angel agreed with her. Erik said nothing, thinking of the small number of scars he had catalogued on the man's body yesterday in the bathhouse. They had all looked new, freshly inflicted. Combined with his pale complexion, Erik had a strong suspicion that the man had spent most of his life indoors, a stranger to battle and hard labour. This was no soldier. A scribe, perhaps, or a scholar.

They fell silent when their main point of conversation appeared in the dining room, his hair tousled, darker than Erik remembered. His eyes, though keen and bright, appeared bruised with a severe lack of sleep. Erik didn't blame him; his first night in a strange house would have been tumultuous as well.

Darwin handed the man a bowl of steel-cut oats and a cup of coffee, a dark potent B'oktuan roast that Erik preferred instead of the standard (and weaker) Genoshan blend. Their guest took a sip, and the brief look of rapture that crossed his face suggested that he shared Erik's preferences.

He sat down at the table, and Raven gave him a small smile. Angel said nothing, but she kept buttering her toast longer than necessary, stealing a furtive glance every now and then. The newcomer stoically dug into the oats, and finally it seemed Darwin couldn't take the heavy, uncomfortable silence anymore.

"I could use a hand in the garden after breakfast. Will you help me?" he asked, placing a hand on the man's shoulder. Although Erik had warned him that some people didn't like being touched by strangers, it was as much a part of Darwin's nature as his ability to think on his feet, to adapt to new situations. 

The man visibly hesitated before his eyes slid over to Erik's, and now Darwin was looking at him as well, waiting for Erik's approval. Erik basically left the running of the household in Darwin's good hands, but the addition of another person to their house meant more expenditure, more resources needed (a room for the man, an extra mouth to feed) and sometimes, more trouble, if the new person had trouble adjusting. In the end, it was Erik's call.

Erik took a sip of his coffee, then nodded at both of them. He had his questions - why the man had been dressed in B'oktuan robes, for example - but those could be answered later. He simply couldn't bring himself to throw a mute out onto the street.

"Thank you, Erik," Darwin said warmly, and as for the man, he nodded at Erik appreciatively as well, his eyes a warm blue.

***

"The new servant's name is Charles," Darwin said later that afternoon, while Erik was sharpening his sword out in the weapons shed. Erik didn't look up, but he could hardly ignore the bloom of curiosity deep in his chest.

"I thought he didn't talk." Erik kept his tone mildly disinterested.

Darwin didn't move from where he was standing in the doorway, muddy and seemingly exhausted, his arms akimbo. "He wrote it in the mud. Probably because he was tired of Abu constantly addressing him as 'Oi!' To be fair, I would be too."

The corners of Erik's mouth wanted to twitch up into a smile, but he forced it back down. "So this Charles reads and writes. How is he coping with the physical labour?"

"Surprisingly well." There was a touch of admiration in Darwin's voice. "Let him shadow me for a while, then we'll assign him more permanent duties later on."

" _If_ he stays," Erik warned him, eyeing the edge of his blade before sheathing it.

"Your faith in people is truly inspiring," Darwin said with a grin, but before Erik could come up with a rebuttal, he had already left.

***

There was a small, black slate board that some of the servants' children used when learning the alphabet and practising their letters, but it had been lying unused in the library for a while now, still smeared with remnants of chalk. When Erik found the board, he wiped it clean with a wet cloth, then hunted down an accompanying stub of chalk. A quick check with a Darwin confirmed that Charles was upstairs in the room they shared, so Erik made his way to the men's quarters. The house was quiet enough, its occupants settling down for the night. Erik could hear the murmur of servants gossipping over a late game of backgammon, as well as the sweet, acrid smell of sheesha smoke wafting from behind closed doors.

Darwin's room was at the end of the corridor, opposite Erik's own, and the door was ajar so Erik gave a perfunctory knock before pushing it open. He stood completely still. Charles was peeking into the wardrobe, clad only in a towel, his hair still damp from the bath. He blinked at Erik, who in turn blinked back before remembering why he came.

"I apologise." Erik held up the slate board. "I found this in the library. Since Darwin told me you could read and write, I thought you might use this to communicate."

Charles' eyes rested on the board, then jumped back up at Erik again. In the light of the few lamps scattered around their room, his eyes seemed to have lost their blueness, but they were no less intent. Finally Charles nodded, tapping his chest twice. _Thank you_ , a gesture which Darwin had taught him.

"You're welcome." Erik bent down to leave the slate and chalk on the nearest bed, then stole one last glance at Charles. There was a tinge of pink high on his cheeks, and the tips of his ears had turned red. He looked rather pleased, the corners of his mouth were curving up.

Erik left as quickly as he could.

***

At dawn, a rider arrived from the palace with the message that Erik had been expecting to receive from Shaw. Erik put on his official green and gold robes this time, telling the grateful messenger to take some mint tea and bread from a half-asleep Darwin. After the man had been seen to, Erik headed out to the stables, squinting up at the sky to discern the day's weather. The three moons were already fading away in the rising blue wash of dawn, a trio of fat crescents getting fuller by the day. The Lunar festival was almost upon them now, and he made a mental note to pass Darwin the money for certain preparations.

He rode to the palace in a quick gallop, the moons having all but disappeared into the gradually brightening sky by the time he arrived. Erik had always considered the palace to be a feat of Genoshan architecture, a majestic dome that towered over the rest of the kingdom.  
It was protected by high, impressive walls, from which sprouted three lean turrets that also served as watching posts. At the top of each turret was a decorative gold crescent, one for each moon of Genosha. Visitors and commoners would enter by the heavily-guarded main entrance, a high curved archway with thick iron gates. There was also a smaller west entrance mainly used by the army, and this was the one Erik rode into now, nodding as the soldiers on duty smartened up and saluted him immediately.

Handing Magneto to one of Alex's subordinates, Erik stepped into the cool quietude of the palace, which was not yet filled with the bustling of servants or the babble of nobles at court. Only the kitchen staff would be up at this hour, baking bread, as well as the priests who were conducting the morning's prayer session.

He found Shaw in the Prayer Hall, watching the dervishes. Erik found it a mesmerizing sight, even for someone like himself who placed no stock in religion. Dressed in long white robes like ghosts, the dervishes would whirl around and around for hours on end, hands raised with their palms skyward in total subservience to the Maker. Their robes, when in motion, formed a perfect floating circle around them. From where Erik was watching, in the doorway of the east entrance, the dervishes looked like a sea of spinning tops.

Erik made his way in when he saw Shaw motioning for him to come forward, then stood patiently beside the throne. There were more and more prayers being offered now that a festival was coming, and Erik had been fully prepared to wait. So he was surprised when Shaw suddenly rose without warning and headed for his chamber, the royal guards quickly trailing behind him. It took Erik only a few long strides to catch up.

They passed through the usual routine of three guarded doorways, a set of vaulted doors and a trick entrance that required the depression of a hidden brick behind a ledge. The door slid open, revealing Shaw's private study. It was done up in dark red and burgundy, maroon silk draped over the walls and reminding Erik of some opium-soaked Sultan's den straight out of the tales of ancient Genosha.

Shaw nodded as Erik bowed. "I imagine you know what I am going to say."

"Yes, my lord." Erik thought he could smell a tinge of jasmine in the air, and wondered if Emma had visited as recently as last night, which would explain the faint benevolent smile Shaw was wearing.

"The news about Marko...displeases me." Shaw paused here, slowly pacing back and forth."I got word that the Marko family may or may not have been spotted in Semiha just the day before. But that is too far a distance for them to have travelled, no?"

"It's hard to say, my lord." Erik didn't say that even the fastest horses would have taken at least a day's hard riding to reach the port city. Still, it was a possibility that he couldn't discount. "I'll send my best ears and eyes out to the coast."

Shaw nodded as though he had not been expecting any less of Erik. "By the way, regarding Lord Marko's family...how many children does he have again?"

Erik tried to mask his confusion. "Just that barbarian, Cain." Erik could still remember Cain's blockish, brutish face, the cruel curl of his lip after he had tried to drag that poor palace maid to his guest room at last year's Lunar Festival. Erik had been furious, but Shaw had waved away the infraction in favour of diplomacy.

"Really?" The uncharacteristic - and genuine - uncertainty in Shaw's tone made Erik look closer at him. It was not often that he got to see his master's brow creased with doubt. "Erik, I may need you to go personally to Semiha."

There was clearly no room for disagreement even though Erik felt he would be of better use in the palace. This was a punishment, now, Erik knew. He hid his displeasure by bowing low, his cheeks aching with the strain of forcing back a grimace. "My Lord."

Deep grooves - what passed as dimples for Shaw - bracketed his mouth. "You could do with a change of environment, Erik. Enjoy the sea."

***

Erik didn't.

Semiha, in its heyday, was purported to be the jewel of the Black Coast. It lay right in the middle of shipping routes between the Slav countries and Genosha, and had benefited from its position as a port, right up till pirates had taken over. Now the change in management was obvious enough: the port had fallen into disrepair and was badly managed, goods strewn about haphazardly and ridiculous taxes imposed on countries out of favour with Semiha. The smarter traders had already taken their business elsewhere, usually further west where there were no crippling taxes on silk and spices, like Westchester.

Azazel thankfully had a few contacts in the city, but none of them had seen anyone resembling the Marko family or even heard of any new fugitives. One such contact, a cigar-chomping man with peculiar tufts of hair, seemed especially uneasy around Erik and Azazel, looking ready to whip out a knife every time Erik so much as reached for his ale.

"What is with you, comrade?" Azazel smirked as he patted the man - Logan - on the shoulder. The tavern was surprisingly full at noon, milling with sailors, traders, and two Genoshan soldiers who had saluted Erik and Azazel earlier when they came in, fanning themselves. It was baking in the tavern. The heat was on par with what Erik was used to in Genosha, but he couldn't stand the thick, salty humidity. 

Logan eyed all of them with distrust, taking short staccato puffs of his cigar. "Rumour has it that your Patriarch has been wheelin' and dealin' with our caliph," he said curtly. "It makes me nervous whenever long-feuding politicians suddenly get friendly."

"So he wants to build better relationships," Erik said with a shrug. "It's perfectly reasonable."

Huffing out a cloud of smoke. Logan arched an eyebrow at him. "Oh really? Then why are other countries sniffin' around? I've seen delegates from Westchester in town, askin' questions just like you two."

Azazel waved him away dismissively. "Countries rich in natural resources tend to be more paranoid about...protecting their interests, shall we say." Erik didn't say anything, but he mentally tucked this information away for future reference.

"Well, I don't like it," Logan announced, getting up from the table and stabbed his cigar in the air at Erik. "You had better grow eyes on the back of your head, bub."

As he swaggered out of the bar, Erik and Azazel exchanged an amused look. "What do you think a 'bub' is?" Azazel asked with a laugh.

"I don't know," Erik said, before finishing the rest of his drink. "Whatever it is, it didn't sound complimentary."

***

Erik came home to little fanfare, because the whole household was busy with festive preparations. Only little Aisha, the cook's youngest, greeted him at the door, and he gladly gave her the bag of dragon-apples he had bought in Semiha, from a Westchester trader. He got to his knee and helped her to undo the knot, secured extra tightly because Magneto was not above nosing into the bag and finishing the sweet, crunchy fruit for herself. As Aisha reached in for a dragon-apple and bit into the fleshy fruit, Erik laughed at her delighted, gummy grin and ruffled her hair.

It was only when he stood up that he spotted the mute - Charles - leaning against the doorway, watching the two of them with a faint little smile. He was still wearing Darwin's old clothes, but a week of good, hearty home cooking had filled him out a little, making him look so much healthier and not so scrawny and malnourished. He straightened up when he spotted Erik though, giving him a little nod. Erik reached into Aisha's bag, picking out a dragon-apple and tossing it to Charles, who examined it with a fond smile.

"It's delicious," Erik said, nodding towards young Aisha who was happily stuffing her face with the fruit. "Rare around these parts."

Charles slowly sank his teeth into the dragon-apple, and there was that upward quirk of his lips again in that secretive little smile that was far more intriguing than it had a right to be. He took another bite, and grinned as the juice ran down his chin, his unusually red mouth shiny with moisture.

"It's my favourite fruit," Erik told him, forcing his eyes away and looking around his garden instead. Darwin had attempted to plant a variety of fruit trees over the past few years, and so far only six had managed to survive and flourish. The seventh, a dragon-apple tree, had grown but failed to produce any fruit, but Erik had asked Darwin to leave the tree there, as a monument to a fairy tale his mother had told him as a boy. 

"Erik, why don't dragon-apples grow in Genosha?" Aisha asked, tugging at Erik's pant leg.

"It's probably the climate," Erik said, belatedly realising what a dull answer this was. "Well, actually, my mother used to tell me a story, which I think is the real reason."

Aisha clapped her hands in glee, making Charles smile behind her. "Tell us!" she demanded.

Erik smoothed back her dark hair. "Once, there was a prince of Genosha who lived a very long time ago. He was betrothed to a princess from a faraway land, but he had fallen for a courtesan in his palace. Every night, they would sneak out and meet by a cluster of dragon-apple trees. Back then, they were many and plentiful. To help mark the place in the dark, the prince would carve the number '7' into the bark of one such tree, the birthdate of his beloved."

"And mine too," Aisha added eagerly. The corners of Charles' eyes crinkled as his smile widened even more.

"When the prince refused to marry his betrothed, he angered many people, especially the princess's mother, a powerful witch," Erik continued, thinking of his mother's soft, papery hands stroking his brow as she had recited the story to him from memory. "The witch found out why the prince had changed his mind, and cursed the country with a 100-day famine."

"What's a f-famine?" Aisha asked.

"It's when there would be no food, and no crops would grow," Erik said. "Seeing how his people were suffering, the prince agreed to leave his beloved and marry the foreign princess. The witch agreed to lift the curse, but as a reminder to the Genoshans, she made sure dragon-apples would never grow on our soil again."

Aisha's eyes were wide. "What about the prince and his beloved?"

This was Erik's favourite part of the story. "He had to pretend he didn't love her. He left her, standing by their favourite tree. She grew old and never loved another."

Aisha looked down at the apple in her hands. "This story is sad. I don't like it."

Erik exchanged an amused look with Charles over little Aisha's head. "Well, _I_ like it," Erik said thoughtfully. "Most tales end with a happy ending, but this one speaks of sacrifice. Giving up something you love for the greater good. It means so much more, for me."

 _"Erik!"_ The shout startled Erik out of his thoughts, and he looked up to see Raven waving at him enthusiastically from an upstairs window. "You're back just in time. Come up here!"

Erik nodded at both Charles and Aisha as he marched in, heading upstairs to see what new tomfoolery his staff had been up to. They were hanging banners in the dancers' quarters, and the girls were currently arguing with Darwin over which ones they wanted to put up. Raven favoured the simpler dark green banners that bore the insignia of the three moons, while Darwin wanted to hang the gold ones with the royal crest. "There's Erik, he'll decide," Darwin said, clearly exasperated as he ran a hand over his face, staring down at the banners laid out side by side on the floor.

"We have the same argument every year," Erik reminded them. "And I'd go with the simpler ones. Save the royal ones for the Patriarch's birthday next month."

Raven gave Darwin a triumphant smirk, while Darwin just sighed. "Fine, I'll just put these back. Where's Charles?"

"Downstairs." Erik looked up from his inspection of the banners. "How was his conduct?"

"Oh, he's been absolutely helpful," Darwin said, before Raven could even get a word in. "The board you gave him really helps him to communicate. So far, he's had a lot of useful suggestions on how to improve the way we do things. But he's not afraid to get his hands dirty and do actual work."

"I don't know." Raven was wrinkling her nose in doubt. "I get the impression that he's a little high-and-mighty."

"You have something to say about everyone," Darwin reminded her. "Try spending more time with him, you'll see."

Erik decided to intervene before another squabble could arise. "So this Charles is no trouble?"

"Not at all," Darwin said. "I'll vouch for him, if that means anything."

"I don't get why he was dressed as a woman," Angel said, thankfully taking the words right out of Erik's head. "That was very strange."

"I asked him that." Darwin petted her shoulder, which only made her roll her eyes. "Charles seemed rather embarrassed about it, I think it's just some sick thing Marko's into. I didn't pry any further because I didn't want to upset him."

Angel was pursing her lips thoughtfully. "He does seem harmless."

Erik's line of work had trained him to regard no one as 'harmless', but there was something about Charles that tugged at his heartstrings and made him decide to just let the man be (while keeping a strict eye on the situation). So far, nothing about Charles had sent up any red flags yet. Erik would have to wait and observe.

"Move," Raven said, smacking Erik on the leg, and he backed away, belatedly realising he was stepping on one of the banners. As his staff continued their preparations, Erik heard childish laughter coming from the yard, and he made his way to the window. Downstairs in the yard he could see Aisha gleefully scampering after Charles, who was pretending to keep her apples out of her grasp. When she caught up with him, she tugged on his tunic until he tripped over a protruding root of the wizened dragon-apple tree and fell over, landing on his bottom, his eyes comically widened. She giggled again, and he smiled at her without any malice at all, handing Aisha her prize.

When he saw Erik watching both of them, his grin was wide and clear. Erik only nodded back.

***

Everyone in the household wore a particular pendant as a sort of identifier that they were associated with Erik's house. It was black, a simple cross encompassed by a circle, and only after Erik was certain that a particular staff member had earned their place in the house would he hand them the pendant, almost as an unspoken rite of passage. It was easy to pretend that his household did not receive special treatment because of his status, but Erik had seen the demeanor of nasty shopkeepers and soldiers change the moment they spotted the pendant on any of his servants. 

He gave Charles his pendant after Charles had stayed for a month and showed no signs of bolting. Darwin helped Charles to tie it on. "If anyone gives you any trouble, just make sure they see it," Erik told Charles. Privately, he thought Charles would be more than able to hold his own, but Erik had been wrong about people before.

Charles patted his chest twice, which meant _thank you_. Darwin tugged at his sleeve. "Come on, I need to show you a few things you can help me with."

As they both took their leave, Erik sat at his desk and looked out of the window, where Charles and Darwin were heading out into the garden. He hoped that his instinct about Charles was right.


	3. Chapter 3

_The way the night knows itself with the moon,  
Be that with me._

* * *

For the next two weeks, the palace was a flurry of activity. Whenever Erik rode into the palace grounds, he could see servants climbing up the castle turrets like soldier ants, shouting instructions at one another while hoisting green banners and flags that praised Shaw. _Praise be upon the Patriarch_ , one banner read in cursive Genoshan script, and Erik saw another that proclaimed, _Long live the Patriarch of Genosha_. That one was new, he thought, as he made his way to the Great Hall, shucking his riding gloves.

Truth be told, Erik didn't care much for religious festivals. He knew some of the other knights were steadfastly pious; Azazel always went to temple on Fridays, and as for Janos, the House of Quested had a history of setting aside at least ten bags of gold for the festival season. Erik never went to temple, he never donated. He did his part as Shaw asked, but as far as his own faith was concerned, it had died with his parents in a caravan, in faraway B'oktua.

Erik often wondered if his lack of faith had any correlation with his turbulent past. His childhood had been normal enough, travelling from city to city as merchants, but always returning home to B'oktua. When he was nine, his father had allowed him to handle a sword for the first time, and even he had been surprised at Erik's natural, instinctive ability with it. He had been allowed to practise every day, except on the Shabbat, and soon even the older boys had started coming to him for lessons. Erik's mother had frowned upon this, but Erik could not bear to part with his sword, even taking it to bed with him at night.

In a bitter coincidence, this odd habit was what saved him when the bandits had attacked one cold night. Waking up to the anguished cries of his parents being slain, Erik had wielded the sword in blind fury. He had managed to kill five bandits before he was subdued.

The days and nights were a horrible blur of grief and despair where Erik wondered why he had not joined his parents and been taken captive instead. Maybe he would be sold. Genosha frowned upon slavery, but there were many barbarian tribes in the Outlands with plenty of uses for a fourteen-year-old slave.

Erik still wasn't sure how it had happened, but Shaw, then a warlord, had bought him off the bandits, and taken him under his wing. When Shaw had taken the throne by force, he instilled Erik as a squire. Five years later Erik would serve as one of his Elite Knights - the best, according to Shaw.

Erik supposed that, faith or not, he did have some things to be grateful for, after all.

***

Darwin's sickness took everyone by surprise, because he rarely fell ill and Erik was so used to him filling the role of caretaker. But he was overtaken with a bronchial-sounding cough that sounded like something was rattling around in his lungs, alarming even Erik. A physician came and prescribed a number of honeyed herbal mixtures, lozenges, and lots of bed rest, and Erik ordered to stay in bed until he didn't feel like he was going to hack up a lung on the carpet.

"But who's going to take his place?" Raven asked anxiously, after the physician had left. Erik understood her apprehension; although he could always hire a temporary housekeeper to help with Darwin's work, Raven had already planned to present a dance for the festival that included Darwin. 

"Could you change the choreography, and dance alone?" he asked, although the outrage on Raven's face was his answer.

"We've been practising for months, I don't think--" she trailed off as she stared at someone behind Erik, and he turned in time to see Charles carrying a stack of folded sheets to the women's quarters. He smiled at them as he walked past, oblivious to their conversation.

Erik already knew what Raven was up to when he saw the sly smile dawning on her face. "Him?" he said, pointing in the direction Charles had just left. "But will he know the choreography?"

Raven arched an eyebrow at him. "He's been watching us practice since he got here. He'll know it better than anyone else, I assure you. He's already taken over all of Darwin's other duties without asking."

Erik hadn't known that, secretly impressed by Charles' initiative. "Fine," Erik said, lifting a finger in warning as Raven punched the air in triumph. "But I'm not responsible if he falls on his face in front of the Patriarch."

***

When dressing for celebrations that were held in the palace, Erik always believed that less was more. For a knight of his stature, he seldom deviated from the basic garb they traditionally wore: a fitted, dark green tunic emblazoned with the royal crest (stitched in gold silk), paired with a light green _keffiyeh_ wrapped around the neck. For the other knights, they would usually use such occasions to show off their war finery, which were prized medals and badges earned from battles. But Erik only ever wore a pair of gold arm cuffs that had been a gift from Shaw on his twentieth birthday, a mark of his transition to manhood - and knighthood. 

Erik made his way down the corridors. Even from a distance, he could already hear loud but muffled music echoing from the Prayer Hall, accompanied by the low, steady thump of the drums. The dances had started. His steps quickened, because Raven and her girls would be up soon. Despite how he liked to tease her about being clumsy, there was no argument that she, Angel and the rest of the dancers were some of the best in the kingdom. 

The hall was packed, filled with visiting dignitaries, various nobles as well as several soldiers from the army in casual military dress, chatting as they lounged about on plump cushions, waiting for the dances to start. At the front of the hall, Erik could see Shaw already reclining on a raised dais, speaking earnestly to Azazel and a smiling Emma. All three of them were holding shisha pipes, shrouded in a cloud of grey smoke. To their right, a cluster of musicians were swaying to the hypnotic beat of the drums, and Erik spotted a silver-haired _sitari_ player who was relatively well-known even outside the kingdom. It seemed Shaw had spared no expense for this year's festivities. 

Shaw sat up with a brilliant smile when he saw Erik approaching. "Look who has finally decided to join us."

Emma smirked teasingly at Erik. "He's here to kill you," she told Shaw, who threw back his head and laughed. 

"What kind of a greeting is that?" Shaw said with a wink, before waving over a servant carrying the wine jug. "A cupful for the best knight in Genosha, hail!"

Wine was poured, and Erik took a seat on the royal dais, which was surrounded on one side with Emma's personal guards. They were burly and nut-brown, entirely out of place with their bear-furs and pointed spears, but they didn't quite stand out like Emma, who was regally resplendent in several snow-white wolf furs. Erik wasn't blind to the many pairs of eyes following her every movement, but of course none of the nobles and knights would dare to make an overture in Shaw's presence. 

"Janos?" Erik asked Azazel quietly, who gestured towards a cluster of courtesans cooing over someone. Erik tried to hide his laughter when Janos emerged, slightly dazed and covered with rouge marks on his cheeks. Azazel was openly chuckling. 

"Erik, I have not seen you in a while," Emma said sweetly. "You are mysteriously absent whenever I drop by the palace." 

"Some mysteries are best left unsolved," Erik replied. Beside him, Azazel almost choked on his wine.

As expected, Emma was unfazed, smiling sardonically at Erik. "The further you push me away, the closer I get." 

Erik simply shrugged, sipping his wine. In the beginning, during the early days of their alliance with Emma's tribe, he had been uncomfortable with Emma's candid flirtations, because there were clear signs that Shaw had wanted to take Emma for a wife. But years passed and there was no such proposal, even though Erik remained unshaken in his belief that they were deeply involved, if the secret visits Emma frequently made to his bedchamber were any indication. Shaw also seldom made any important decisions without consulting her first, and Erik had also not missed the way Shaw's eyes always thawed whenever her name was mentioned. 

She was reclining against Shaw now, her head pillowed on his shoulder, flaxen hair fanned out over his dark royal robes. Shaw was absently stroking strands of it, proprietary and fond. Erik was about to nudge Azazel when the drums began playing a slower, hypnotic beat, a hush falling over the audience. 

Erik sat up in anticipation as Raven and her girls swayed into the hall, their long, billowy skirts trailing behind them. Their eyes were dark and smoky with kohl, as was the custom for _mujra_ dancers, but Raven's looked especially striking, her cheeks red with rouge and her nose ring glinting in the lamp light. The audience watched, rapt with pleasure as the girls prettily flicked their hands from side to side in time with their hips, their bracelets and anklets jingling. 

There was a small commotion at the side of the hall that brought Erik out of his trance, and he turned to crane his neck, irritated. But his frown vanished when he saw Charles dressed in dancer's robes and harem pants, his chest bare save for a short bolero vest and an asymmetrical necklace dotted with silver discs bearing the royal crest. The sheer, cottony fabric draped around his legs and waist did little to hide parts that Erik's gaze was - guiltily - starting to seek out on a regular basis.

"Come." Azazel elbowed Erik, gesturing towards the row of plush chairs flanking Shaw's throne, where some of the other knights were already seated for a better view of the dances. By the time Erik sat down, Charles and Raven were already deep into the first act, and judging from the playful, teasing choreography, it was probably meant as a courtship ritual.

Erik, like the rest of the enthralled audience, could not take his eyes off the two dancers. Where Raven pushed, Charles pulled, their movements fluid and in sync with each other. In the background Angel and the other girls were the perfect accompaniment, graceful but muted, leaving the spotlight to the two lead dancers.

The soldiers clapped in delight as Raven twirled her way around them, Charles in playful pursuit, their twin scarves fluttering gracefully in the air. What Erik liked about _mujra_ dance, despite the stigma attached to it, was its informality. It allowed for audience interaction, but that was not always a good thing. As a young boy, Erik remembered watching his mother fend off unwanted advances from men who were of the backward mindset that _mujra_ dancers were no different from courtesans. He knew things used to be much worse a few generations ago, when _mujra_ dancers and their families had no legitimate standing in society, along with slaves and servants. It was only after the first Patriarch, the conquering war hero Ibn Sayyif, and his marriage to a freed female slave that the laws changed, abolishing slavery and creating better conditions for the working class. But, as always, although the laws changed overnight, the effects of change were slow to ripple through society itself. There were many like Marko who flagrantly abused their own servants and bribed officials to look the other way. Erik still occasionally caught himself thinking of the day he had found Charles in that burning house, alone and malnourished. 

A chiming of bells indicated the end of the courtship dance, and Erik absently clapped as Raven and Charles bowed gracefully. Now was the second act, the rhythm of the drums twice as fast now, a war horn sounding. The battle scene. 

A stream of other male dancers had run into the hall for the second act, and Erik lost himself in the quick, sharp movements of Charles 'battling' his aggressors. "Your boy is good," Azazel said into his ear beside him, and Erik was caught between the warring sensations of denial - Charles was _not_ his 'boy' - and a curl of smoky desire rising in the pit of his stomach at the thought of Charles tied up, restrained, entirely at his mercy. _His boy._ Azazel must have taken his silence for agreement for he was chuckling lustily and patting Erik on the back, as if in congratulations. 

In retrospect, Erik could see why they made Charles wear so little now. Clothes would have restricted his movements, which carried a masculine grace Erik was used to seeing in the best soldiers. The little niggling doubt about Charles' actual origins had wormed its way into his thoughts again, and Erik was almost quite certain that Charles must have been physically trained once upon a time, or at least kept himself fit in some shape or form. The muscles along his arms weren't as defined as Erik's own, but they were there. There was also an inherent fluidity to his movements that couldn't be taught in any school, and Erik remembered Raven being pleased about this, gushing to him over dinner. 

As if summoned by the mere thought of her name, Raven and the other dancers marched in with prop bows, releasing phantom arrows onto the outnumbered enemy. Charles placed his hands on her waist and lifted her skyward in triumph, soliciting a gasp from the audience. Apparently, Erik wasn't the only one fooled into thinking Charles was weak; his short frame belied the real extent of his strength.

The bell chime again signalled the end of the second act, and the audience enthusiastically applauded the dancers. Charles, now sweaty and flushed, held out his hand to Raven, who took it gracefully as they made their way to stand in front of the throne, in front of Shaw and the row of knights flanking him, while the other dancers quickly stole away backstage. Erik was familiar with the next act, having spent his entire childhood exposed to his mother's _mujra_ routines. The third act, of course, was the Seduction scene, a trick of the _mujra_ choreographers of old to win favour with the Emperors.

A servant darted from lamp to lamp, extinguishing a few so that the hall seemed darker, adding an element of romance. But no one paid her any attention: all eyes were on Charles and Raven, who were starting to circle each other, assessing, even playful. From this distance, Charles' eyes stood out, blue and luminous amidst the kohl he was wearing. Erik's gaze travelled down, appreciatively lingering over the sweet curve of Charles' bottom, the sturdy strength of his thighs. Would Charles be a little spitfire in bed, giving Erik as good as he got? Erik adjusted himself discreetly, clearing his throat and forcing himself to focus on the dance instead.

Charles was holding Raven's gaze as their hands entwined, and Erik was entranced by the lean cords of muscle standing out along Charles' outstretched arm, bearing Raven's weight as she dipped gracefully. The music was still a slow thump, almost drunken, the strings of the _sitari_ echoing through the hall. Its tune was low, seductive, like the whispers of lovers, and for an odd moment Erik found himself wondering what Charles' actual voice sounded like, were he capable of speech.

Now Raven was upright again, flushed in Charles' arms as he held her close, and Erik was disturbed by the hot spike of jealousy that seized his chest. He blinked rapidly, chiding himself for entertaining such inexplicable sentimentality. Raven and Charles were circling each other again, and there was scattered laughter when Charles nimbly stole one of her scarves, prompting mock outrage from Raven who proceeded to 'chase' him around the hall, the rhythm of the drums picking up in speed to match their quickened steps.

Having run a full circle, Raven was now back in front of Shaw for her solo dance, which Erik knew she had practised for months beforehand. He watched with half an eye as she swayed her hips suggestively at Shaw and twirled her wrists, her bracelets jingling with the motion. Erik stole a quick sideways glance; Shaw was leaning forward in interest, while Emma's eyes glittered like a cat's beside him, ever watchful. Azazel's attention was also on Raven, riveted to the slow shimmy of her hips, an appreciative smile tugging at his mouth.

When her solo dance was over, Shaw actually stood up and applauded, and Erik could see the unhappy twist of Emma's mouth. Azazel was clapping heartily as well, and Raven bowed deeply to the Patriarch, her chest panting with exertion. She quickly stole away, and now that the drums were starting up again, Erik could see a masculine figure making its way to the space in front of Shaw.

"Is the dance over?" he heard Emma asking Azazel.

Out of the corner of his eye, Erik could see Azazel shaking his head. "The custom is that both the male and female dancers have their own solo performance," Azazel explained. Now he lowered his voice, but Erik had sharp ears. "In case the Patriarch has unconventional preferences, if you know what I mean."

Even though Erik couldn't see Emma's face from this angle, the smirk was obvious in her voice. "Then that won't be necessary."

Azazel lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "Still, it's tradition."

Charles was now standing in front of the throne, bowing low to the Patriarch. Shaw gave him a single, sharp nod of assent, after which the music started again and Charles began his dance. Erik was immediately entranced. A performance by a male _mujra_ dancer was rarer than a dragon-apple tree in Genosha. Charles' movements were not as sinuous and suggestive as Raven's, but they were no less graceful. 

There was also a sharp difference in the choreography. Charles' movements were quick, battle-like, forceful. But the come-hither look in his eyes was identical to Raven's, and Erik was stunned by the intense heat in them when they met his gaze. 

Charles was looking at _him_.

Erik's throat felt too dry, his heart racing in his ears. But he couldn't look away. Charles' half-lidded, flirtatious gaze was fixed on him as he wove a path towards Erik, the stolen scarf trailing in his wake. Erik could hear the soft chuckle of Shaw to his right, amused with the proceedings, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Erik's jaw dropped as Charles looped the scarf around him, then yanked, making Erik stumble out of his chair as the others clapped and laughed. But Erik paid them no mind, intoxicated by Charles' body pressing against his, a hand subconsciously coming to rest on the small of Charles' back to push him closer. No one else in the room existed, except for this exquisite man in front of him, the jewellery and kohl only serving to obscure his looks. And then the drums finished with a loud thump, and there was a flash of regret in Charles' eyes before he pulled away, bowing to the audience. 

Erik blinked, quickly reclaiming his seat before he further made a fool of himself. It had only been a performance, that was all.

After the palace celebrations, Erik chose to return home with his servants instead of staying on in the palace, where he knew Shaw would have readily granted Erik full access to his harem. But he did not regret his choice, his eyes every now and then wandering to where Charles sat in the carriage beside Raven, quiet and exhausted. Erik did not say anything as well, his eyes ready to leap away the moment Charles was in danger of catching him. It seemed he had a lot of thinking to do.

***

The _souk_ was at its busiest in the mornings, when fresh produce was being delivered from the farms and housewives were eager to be the first to poke at the merchandise. Erik seldom went here - he rarely had a need to - and he was a little disconcerted at the overwhelming chaos. Sellers were shouting about their wares, people were calling out to passing friends, a man walked by with a serene expression and a screeching monkey on his shoulder. At the center of the _souk_ , a group of women wearing the garish canvas clothes and clunky jewellery of some Outlands tribe were in the midst of an old Genoshan love song. _You were my first love,_ they sang, _and then I had to let you go._

Erik's brief enjoyment was interrupted by an escaped screeching parrot who fluttered past him, shortly followed by its shouting owner. When Erik turned to take a closer look, he caught Charles' private, amused little smile at Erik's startlement.

"You're laughing at me," Erik complained, nudging Charles with a chastising elbow, and Charles nudged back, his lips curved up in mischief.

They managed to procure most of the items Darwin wanted, although Erik was having a hard time finding a stall that sold dragon spice. Most stalls were sold out due to the festival, and Erik cursed himself for not coming here earlier. Charles didn't seem particularly put out, though. He only tugged on Erik's sleeve, nodding towards a stall nestled between a cloth shop and a fruit stall.

"Are you sure? He sells scarves." Erik didn't quite trust the look of the owner, who was chewing on a blade of straw while swatting away flies. Charles firmly nodded, dragging Erik over to the shop. It turned out Charles was right, of course, looking incredibly smug as he pocketed the last bottle of dragon spice. Erik was both amazed and a little irritated that he hadn't thought of it first. "Fine," he said gruffly, as Charles' smile grew wider. "You win, I suppose."

Now Charles stopped him, tilting his head and holding out his hand with an expectant smile. _What do I get?_ , he probably meant. Erik raised his eyebrows, biting back a laugh.

"I suppose you can have whatever next catches your eye," Erik said. He hastily added, "Nothing living, though," when Charles' gaze followed a trio of heavily-kohled harem girls walking past them, giggling amidst themselves. Charles' sideways glance of admonishment _did_ succeed in making Erik laugh this time.

It was odd, then, that the next thing that caught Charles' eye had also caught Erik's. They were both standing near a tiny makeshift store selling games and toys, and Erik realised Charles couldn't take his eyes off the stone chess set prominently displayed in front of a row of homemade straw dolls. Charles reached for the black queen, polished from the best obsidian, his eyes alert and intent as he examined it. In the sliver of sunlight that peeked through a gap in the roof, Charles' eyes were such a clear, extraordinary blue. Erik felt like a thief, stealing unwarranted glances and squirreling them away.

Erik shook his head at himself, frowning as he picked up the white counterpart which was made from jagged quartz. It was about as long and thick as his thumb, and the king was just a fraction longer. The other pieces were all smaller. They had to be, Erik reasoned, otherwise the chess set would be too heavy to carry around. 

Erik shot a quick sideways glance at Charles. The smile on his face was soft, crooked at the edges. It was enough to convince him. "How much?" he asked the shopkeeper.

"Thirty," the man said. His eyes seemed piggish, greedy, and he was licking his lips at the prospect of a sale. Erik only let out a snort of derision.

"Twenty-five, and that's my final offer." Erik was trying his very best not to flip the table and beat the man on his head with his own chess set.

"Twenty-five?" The shopkeeper seemed personally affronted by this, and the haggling went on for quite a bit. Erik was confident he would get his price. The set was used, and he could easily get a new one for cheaper in the bazaar in Semiha. However, time was of the essence. He wouldn't be going to the port city for at least a few more months, and he didn't want Charles to be bored.

After haggling it down to twenty-seven silver riyals, Erik picked up the chess set (which was every bit as heavy as it looked) and they walked back to their horses. It was a slow ride home, because it was truly a nice day and there was actually a breeze blowing in from the north. Charles rode beside him, ever silent, but there was an appreciative smile on his face. 

It felt comforting, for once, to not have to chatter endlessly or wrangle with small talk. In a way, Charles reminded Erik of Janos, but where Janos was withdrawn and reticent, Charles seemed _open_ and receptive, perfectly willing to listen and interact with others despite his muteness. It was easy to tell his mood just from his expression, whereas Janos reminded Erik very much of a wall, closed-off and inaccessible. To be fair, Janos did have his good moments though. And he was an excellent soldier. Still, Erik would probably never get along with him as well as he did with Azazel.

The road back to the house was not as congested this late in the day, when everyone would be indoors to escape the relentless sun. Erik stole a glance at Charles, who was already flushed red from the sweltering heat, sweat streaming from his brow and past his sideburns. Charles lifted a hand to mop away the moisture on his brow, and Erik couldn't help noticing the masses of freckles scattered across Charles' forearm, up till his elbow. 

Erik was suddenly seized by an unbidden image of himself licking those very freckles, his mouth blotting kisses against that pale skin. Immediately he looked away, frowning, but Charles didn't seem to have any inkling of his lecherous thoughts, judging from his soft whistling, both of them heading home in companionable silence.

***

It was only much later, after dinner, that Erik had the time to hunt Charles down to pass him the stone chess set. He found Charles in the women's quarters, watching Raven and Angel practising some new choreography they had just come up with. His face lit up when he spotted Erik, and his grin widened even more when his gaze dropped down to the chess set in Erik's hands. He raised his eyebrows questioningly, gesturing between himself and Erik. _A game, you and me?_ Of course, Erik couldn't resist.

Erik led Charles to his study, and they sat on the verandah which overlooked the back garden, the singing of the crickets high and shrill. It was cold tonight, so Erik handed Charles a dark blue cardigan that Ororo had knitted for his birthday some time back. He could see Charles running his fingers over the soft fabric admiringly before putting it on, the sleeves a little long for him. He folded them back as Erik dragged over an extra chair to the table where he usually spent his evenings alone, with some spiced wine.

"Comfortable?" Erik asked, and Charles nodded. He gestured towards Erik, who waved him away. "Oh, don't worry about me, I grew up in B'oktua," he told Charles. "You know how cold it gets up north."

Charles gave him a perfunctory, disinterested nod, just to acknowledge that he'd heard Erik. It was strange, how easily he was starting to read and discern Charles' various expressions for himself so that the slate was not always needed. A tiny frown appearing between Charles' eyebrows would signal confusion, while his entire face going blank and rigid, his jaw stiff, meant he was angry as hell and trying not to show it. A variety of smiles conveyed different levels of ease for Charles; a broad one was the one he had for everybody, and the one that lit his face and crinkled his eyes appeared whenever Raven or Darwin was around. Interestingly, the small amused quirk of his lips was reserved solely for Erik. It wasn't mockery; it had a touch of warmth to it, so Erik liked to think it was more of a teasing fondness, an I-see-right-through-you smile.

Erik realised he had been staring when Charles shot him that very same expression now, and he straightened up immediately when he heard the jingle of Raven's bracelets and her soft chuckle. "Look at the two of you, playing chess like old men," she said, carrying in a tray of mint tea. Erik was pleasantly surprised. She usually did this when she wanted something from him, or was in a particularly sweet mood.

"Chess stimulates the brain." Erik watched as Raven set down long, tall glasses of amber-coloured tea with green stalks of jula mint submerged in it. "It is no wonder you are not interested in it."

Raven narrowed her eyes at him, but without any real malice - he had been treated to a number of opportunities to see her truly in a rage - while Charles shook a finger admonishingly at Erik. "See, even Charles takes my side," she retorted, before going over and planting a kiss on his cheek. 

Erik only snorted as he took a sip of the tea. It was piping hot and had just the barest hint of sweetness, rich with the vivid, sharp aroma of the crushed jula mint leaves; it was exactly how he liked his tea, and Raven knew it. "He takes your side only because he has not been exposed to your special brand of madness," Erik said dryly, swirling the tea around.

Raven flapped a dismissive hand at him as she knelt next to Charles. "Don't be fooled by his gruffness," she warned Charles, whose eyebrows shot up. "He acts like this to keep people away." Here, she leaned in conspiratorially and mock-whispered, "But his bark is worse than his bite."

"Raven." 

Now her gaze was on him, soft and assessing and completely ignoring his protests whatsoever. "I should know, I owe him everything," she said quietly, and Erik concentrated instead on the board, heat creeping into his cheeks. As much as he had implored her not to say anything on this matter in previous instances, Raven always seemed fond of making him out to be some kind of hero. He explicitly wasn't; it had been the right thing to do at the time, just as his mother had taught him. 

"Anyway," Raven said, patting Charles' knee. "Don't be afraid to beat him soundly. He won't do anything, he's excessively fond of yo--"

" _Raven_ ," Erik said, this time through his teeth.

"I'm just saying." She rolled her eyes, getting to her feet and hopping over, giving Erik an extra-long kiss on his forehead. "Enjoy your tea, gentlemen."

Erik let out a little sigh of relief, but he could see Charles' eyes trailing her, brow furrowed in confusion. "What is it?" Erik asked, although he suspected he already knew the answer. Most people had the same initial questions about him and Raven.

Charles looked around for the slate, picking it up and scrawling on it before showing it to Erik: _she once told me you saved her life._

Erik dragged a hand over his face, but the heat refused to dissipate, pooling in his cheeks. "She was a child bride," he said shortly, arranging the pieces. "It is outlawed, but not quite observed by the clans living near the border." Erik paused, a memory of Raven's tearstained face, rounder then with childhood, flashed in his mind. "She was an orphan, and her uncle had gambling debts."

Erik let the awful silence fill in the rest, and a quick glance at Charles confirmed that his expression was now grim. After arranging the front row of pawns, Erik continued, "If I hadn't been there on diplomatic relations, only the Maker knows what would have happened to Raven."

Now something interesting was happening. Charles was lost in thought, staring out of the window at the darkness of night, but Erik didn't get the impression that he was sad. No, he looked _crestfallen_ , as though something had slipped out of his reach.

Charles didn't reach for the slate this time. He pointed in the direction Raven had left, then reached over and pressed his palm against Erik's chest, right above his heart. It was a ritual in most marriage ceremonies, after the couple had exchanged vows, just as symbolic as the exchanging of rings. Erik understood immediately: Charles was asking if they were married.

Erik shook his head. "I don't have a death wish, no," he said, making Charles smile. "I brought her back here, and I've been stuck with her ever since. People think we didn't marry because of the age gap. Mostly true, I guess." Charles' hand was still on his chest, and Erik could feel the warmth of his palm filtering through the soft linen. He continued talking, mostly as a distraction. "Raven took up dancing, and she became so good that now parents send their girls here to learn from her. Angel was the first."

Charles' mouth was open in a silent _Ah_ , and Erik felt strangely light-headed when Charles finally took his hand away. There was something thick in the air now that Erik couldn't quite describe, a heavy air of expectation that something would happen. But what? What had Erik expected to happen indeed? The real answer caused a twinge of guilt in him that made him avoid Charles' eternally questing eyes.

They arranged the pieces in silence, Charles taking white while Erik took black. Charles' movements were quick, precise, and Erik couldn't help but watch as those elegant fingers cradled a pawn, Charles' eyes scanning the board to figure out his first move. Erik followed. The game was swift and relentless, but if anyone stumbled, it was Erik, much to his embarrassment. It had been a while since he had found anyone to play chess with. Darwin and Raven preferred games of chance, and chess was all about strategy, which Charles seemed to excel at.

When Erik was soundly beaten, he was still blinking while Charles grinned from ear to ear, triumphant. "How did you--" Erik gestured helplessly at the board.

Charles started rearranging the pieces back in order, mouth twisted in amusement. He nodded towards the board, an eyebrow arched. _Another round, my friend?_

Erik couldn't resist.

***

Darwin was insisting that he felt better and was ready to resume his duties, but one look at his ashen face and stooped-over posture convinced Erik that he needed more bedrest. Alex came by on the pretense of inspecting Magneto's horseshoes, which he had replaced a month ago, and the worry on his face after his visits with Darwin was obvious. But at least that hacking cough no longer sounded like something was rattling around in Darwin's chest, and Charles was doing an exceedingly good job at taking over his duties anyway.

Erik tried convincing himself that he had no ulterior motive in letting Charles do Darwin's chores. No, it had nothing to do with the fact that Charles was now also running his baths. Nothing at all.

The first time, Erik had been too surprised and caught off-guard to see Charles in the bathhouse, pouring buckets of hot water into the tub, so nothing had happened then. However, as the days passed, Erik's traitorous body had come to expect seeing that pert little bottom bent over his tub, poor innocent Charles whistling as he poured globs of soap into the steamy bathwater, and Erik used all his martial training to keep a straight face and his cock down. It worked, mostly. Erik was now in the habit of swaddling himself in two towels so Charles wouldn't be privy to his over-eager erection. Once Charles left, Erik was free to deal with it in the bath, usually while trying not to imagine what that pale skin tasted like, or whether Charles was capable of moaning while Erik sucked him off. He always failed.

It was a little disconcerting, actually, how well Charles now fit into his household. He got along well with everyone, particularly Raven, and he was adept at guessing Erik's moods and wants. The other servants liked him well enough. The members of the palace were fond of him too, if the reception after his dance was anything to go by.

Erik wanted to be proud of Charles for representing them so well, but instead of pride there was the dark desire to lock Charles up and keep his talents for himself, the urge to guard him from prying (interested) eyes. Deep down Erik knew Charles could take care of himself, but he couldn't deny the base need to protect those of his house. At least, that was what he told himself.

Tonight Charles was pouring soap into the bath as usual, but he lingered longer than he was wont to, casually arranging fresh towels on the shelves. Erik hemmed and hawed as long as he dared, but it seemed inevitable. He'd have to disrobe in front of Charles, eventually.

He cleared his throat, then cleared it again, turning so that his back faced Charles. He started to unknot his towel, but Charles was behind him in an instant, his hands brushing Erik's away. Erik held his breath. Charles slid off the towels, and when Erik was bare, he felt a soft warm whoosh of breath against his exposed back.

Erik fought down a shiver. "Thank you." His voice seemed hoarse and scratchy, alien to himself.

A gentle brush of fingers against the ridges of his spine, and Erik froze. When it became too silent, he turned around, and he realised Charles had already left.


	4. Chapter 4

_They say there is a window from one heart to another  
How can there be a window where no wall remains?_

* * *

There was a tradition, at the tail end of the Lunar Festival, where if a man had matrimony on his mind, this would be the time to seek out his beloved and propose marriage. The old ways would have these suitors sending gifts and a suitable dowry to the prospective brides' families, culminating in a lavish proposal on the last day. Erik didn't know much about this tradition: matrimony was not something he was overly concerned about, not since he had vowed his loyalty to Shaw on his twentieth birthday, and in the eight years that had passed, no woman had enticed him enough ( _or stayed long enough_ , Ororo's voice whispered insidiously in his mind).

But Erik wasn't completely ignorant either. A few years ago, Darwin's brother had wanted to propose to the daughter of a merchant, and Erik had acted as his sponsor. He had watched, with detached amusement, as a procession laden with Genoshan silk, jewellery and sweetmeats set off towards the girl's village. "Some day it'll be your turn," Raven had warned him, and he had only scoffed. She of all people should have known his attitude towards marriage. But there had been darker suspicions lurking at the back of his mind concerning why it was so hard to find a woman who truly pleased him, and he hadn't voiced them. He had wondered if Raven knew, or maybe Darwin. 

It caught him off-guard when, during the last week of the festival, Shaw wanted to send a similar entourage to Emma's tribe in the Outlands. There was only one reason Erik could think of, but Shaw hadn't expressed any matrimonial intentions towards Emma at all

"And you want me to lead the procession?" he asked, frowning a little. Something didn't quite add up.

Shaw tilted his head at Erik rather indulgently. "Erik, who else can I count on but you and your men?"

Even though he was a little troubled, Erik nodded. Shaw's trust in him was not to be scoffed at. "Then I will get them ready, my lord."

***

"I will be leaving for a fortnight."

Charles paused in the midst of folding the linen in one of the guest rooms. He glanced up at Erik, eyes bright and curious. Erik remained where he was in the doorway, more than a little self-conscious now. Why did it feel like Charles' reaction mattered? Erik wasn't asking for approval.

Now Charles was cocking his head at Erik, gesturing at the pile of linen. Erik immediately understood what he was trying to say. "Yes, you won't have to do any duties related to me for the next two weeks. And by the time I come back, Darwin should have fully recovered and be up and about anyway."

Charles was now playing with a loose thread on one of the sheets, and Erik knew that he should stop here, but he couldn't. "I'll be going to the Outlands," Erik said a little too quickly, unsure why he felt the need to explain himself. "I'll be accompanying the Patriarch, looks like he's finally ready to settle down and get married."

If Erik hadn't been watching Charles closely, he might have missed the way the line of Charles' spine stiffened, but he only resumed folding the sheets. Erik was starting to feel a little silly standing here and talking to someone who was being unresponsive, and he was about to turn and leave when Charles straightened up, then gestured for Erik to follow him.

"What is it?" Erik asked, a little intrigued as he walked after Charles, heading for his room. It was late in the afternoon, and Erik could still hear the muffled drumming and jingling coming from the dancers' rehearsal in the women's quarters next door.  
Charles closed the door behind them, shutting out the music. The curtains were drawn, which kept the room cool and dark. Charles opened the one drawer that contained all the belongings he had amassed so far and started rummaging for something, his eyebrows knitting together in a very endearing frown, lips pursed.

Erik's eyes skated down the curve of his spine, lingering at the small of his back that was a perfect space for Erik to rest his hand. It dipped down to meet the swell of his bottom, firm and perfect. Erik had (guiltily) watched Charles stretching during dance rehearsals, fully bending over to touch his toes or lying on his side on the floor, legs raised to stretch them. It provided fantastic masturbatory fodder for Erik to imagine: coming to stand behind Charles, grabbing those hips and just thrusting in roughly into that beautiful tightness, Charles shoving back to get Erik deeper into him and giving as good as he got, the two of them spiralling into heady heights of pleasure. 

The hand waving in front of his face startled him out of his perverted thoughts, and he blinked at Charles, whose mouth was quirked into a rather knowing smile. Or, Erik thought, maybe it was just his damned imagination. Charles couldn't read his mind.

He realised Charles was holding up a beautiful, fire-orange pendant of a phoenix reborn, and he wondered where Charles had gotten such a precious gift. Had he bought it at the _souk_? Or if he had been wearing it under his robes on the day Erik had met him? Still, Erik doubted that Charles could have afforded it. The pendant's intricate little details and subtle gold finish were the work of a master craftsman (or craftswoman) and this would have fetched at least fifty riyals at the _souk_.

Charles was gesturing for Erik to tip his head down, indicating with the pendant that he wanted to put it around Erik's neck, and Erik immediately obeyed. Charles was so close that Erik could feel his breath warming his cheek, and he smelled tantalising of linen and lavender, like a warm bed. There were plenty of things Erik would have loved to do to Charles in a soft, warm bed.

Once Charles was done, he tipped Erik's chin upwards and smiled, pressing the pendant against Erik's chest. _It's yours now_. Erik wondered why Charles wanted to give him this, but if he asked, Charles would walk away to get his slate board, and the spell would be broken. 

He tentatively rested his hands on Charles' hips, and Charles let out a soft inhalation of air, his eyes half-lidded as his gaze dropped to Erik's mouth, a hand still splayed over the pendant. They were mere inches apart, and Charles' breathing was steady, calm. His eyes were still fixed on Erik's mouth. 

Erik licked his lips, and Charles made a soft, yearning sigh. He was about to tip his head down and capture Charles' mouth when Charles turned his head away, stepping back. 

The moment now broken, Erik watched as Charles pretended to rummage through his drawer again. Erik wasn't stupid, he could take a hint. He said, "Thank you," quietly, and left the room, his chest silently cracking into two.

***

The procession was waiting at the gates of the palace, several caravans laden with jewellery, silk, wool, and various delicacies that were rare in the Outlands, like dried honey dates and robust B'oktuan coffee. However, instead of setting out in the morning as planned, there was a delay because while the priests had been conducting the usual pre-departure ritual, there had been some bad omens that had made the soldiers and servants nervous. The sacrificial fire would not light until after several tries, and a raven that had been released to the sky earlier had been found with a broken neck. Erik consulted with Shaw, who looked grim and thoughtful. After some consideration, the Patriarch gave the orders for the procession to continue on as planned, and they were on their way.

Erik rode right at the front, protecting Shaw's carriage while keeping an eye out for trouble ahead. Azazel or Janos took turns guarding the rear, and one of them would sometimes come and relieve Erik of his post if he was exceedingly tired. He seldom was, though. He had learned how to prepare for long journeys, and the two-day ride to Emma's tribe in the Outlands was one of the easier ones. His only real concern was protecting the Patriarch. It was rare for Shaw to venture out of his castle.

"Who gave that to you?" Erik heard Azazel say beside him, and he realised his friend had ridden to the front to keep him company. Azazel was pointing at the phoenix pendant around Erik's neck.

"A friend," Erik said shortly, which was the wrong thing to say of course, if Azazel's low and dirty laugh was any indication.

"A _friend_ gave you that," Azazel said, grinning from ear to ear. "You can be honest with me, you know right?"

"It's just a gift," Erik said a little distantly, frowning a little. They were taking the Pilgrim Trail, and were soon coming up against an old abandoned fortress, a crumbling relic from the era of the first Patriarch. Even though the scouts had already cleared the path earlier, there was a strange, heavy uneasiness resting in the pit of his chest, and Erik couldn't quite shake it.

"Hmm, yes, a gift from that boy of yours, isn't it?" Azazel said teasingly, but Erik was too distracted to be annoyed. There were usually a few loafers hanging around the abandoned fortress, drinking or throwing stones at whichever targets they could see, or maybe a beggar seeking respite from the midday sun and napping under a wall somewhere. A quick look around confirmed there was no one in sight, and Erik didn't like this feeling at all. "Turn left at the next fork, and go by Mesina," Erik told Azazel in a low voice. "I will meet you at the next village before sundown."

Azazel was astonished. "But that delays our journey by at least half a day."

"I know." Erik hoped he was wrong, and then Azazel and the others would be free to complain later. "But something isn't right. Don't tell the Patriarch, it'll tip off anyone who is watching."

They had worked together too long for Azazel to know that Erik was very rarely subject to whims and bad hunches, and in the end Azazel nodded in agreement. Sure enough, at the next turn, Azazel directed the whole contingent to turn left, and he nodded at Erik before riding off to stay close to Shaw's carriage. Waiting until they were far away enough, Erik continued riding straight along the Pilgrim Trail, towards the abandoned fortress.

He slowed Magneto to a casual canter, keeping his eyes and ears peeled. He could see absolutely no one in the abandoned fortress. Unusual.

He rode into the main hall, which was half gloomy and half filled with blinding sunlight, thanks to the caved-in ceiling. His hand rested on the hilt of his sabre, and Erik listened very, very carefully. Silence.

The thin whispery singing of the katana from above him was his only warning, and he yanked Magneto's reins, forcing her to veer to the side as a lithe figure leapt down, the arch of the blade narrowly missing them. His attacker was a woman in a grey skin-tight suit, lean and dark-haired, and her face was mostly obscured by what looked like a silver mask. 

Without warning the woman in grey slashed at Magneto's forelegs, and the poor horse shrieked and reared up on her hind legs, throwing an unsuspecting Erik off her back. He landed on the sand with a painful thump, watching in dismay as his beloved horse toppled to the ground, bleeding into the sand. But there was no time to attend to her because the woman in grey was coming for him again, her _katana_ raised.

She launched herself at Erik who reflexively blocked her lightning-fast blows with his sabre, giving as good as he got.

"Who are you?" Erik growled as their swords clashed again, but her face remained impassive as she continued attacking him mercilessly, her strokes swift and hard. Erik was the best swordsman in Genosha, and the only person he could spar with for decent practice was Azazel. This woman, whoever she was, was better than the both of them put together.

Erik fended off her attacks as best as he could, but just as he tried to deliver a harder blow, she slipped out a glass capsule of what looked like orange sand from the handle of her _katana_. She broke it, then flung its contents in his eyes.

Turning his face away, Erik had managed to avoid most of it, but some had gotten into his eyes and it felt like his eyeballs were on fire. He had no choice but to retreat, and he stumbled towards the entrance, fumbling blindly as more of the horrid sand worked its way in.

Before Erik could make it to the door, a sharp, blinding pain pierced his right shoulder, and Erik let out a low, shocked cryas he tumbled to the floor, his face in the sand.

A strong hand gripped his arm and roughly turned him over, and Erik gasped up at his assailant, silhouetted by the halo of sunlight around her. Her sword was raised, Erik realised, for the killing blow. Erik had been on the giving end many, many times, and the painful irony wasn't lost on him

He clutched at his bleeding shoulder, now sticky with blood, and his thumb brushed against the phoenix pendant. _I will never see him again_ , Erik thought, blinking dazedly at the impassive face of his executioner. And then, _goodbye, Charles._

The killing blow never came. Through a film of tears Erik saw the woman hesitating, before crouching down and staring closely at him. Her eyes were sharp, cold stones, the antithesis of Charles. They were fixed on his pendant now.

To his confusion, she sheathed her _katana_ , shooting Erik a long, considering look, then walked around and away from him, her footsteps getting fainter and fainter. For the next few long moments Erik feared that she would return and finish the job, but there was just silence and the agonizing, throbbing pain in his shoulder.

***

He had no idea when he had passed out or for how long, before being woken by a loud cry of, _I found him!_ Soon he was surrounded by concerned, familiar voices, and Azazel saying something that sounded angry and self-admonishing. The pain was even worse as they tried to lift him, and he turned away from his benefactors with a low groan. He felt a little light-headed, most likely due to the blood loss.

It was all too easy to slip away into the darkness again.


	5. Chapter 5

_The real beloved is that one who is unique,  
who is your beginning and your end._

* * *

It was the sound of running water that woke Erik, his eyes fluttering open, then squeezing shut again to block out the bright sunlight. An abortive attempt to sit up sent a shock of pain through his shoulder, reminding him why it was a bad idea to attempt to move. He managed to maneuver himself into a more comfortable position, propping himself up on his elbows to take a better look at where he was. 

He was in a....well, a room of sorts, except that the lattice wood walls were green and thriving. After a lifetime of exposure to mostly sand and bare vegetation, such lush, rich greenery was rather disconcerting for him. The perimeter of the room was lined with a row of potted eisenflower plants, scenting the air with their honeyed herbal smell, as well as tall stalks of blue moonflowers nodding in the slight breeze coming from large, open windows. Above Erik, vines of purple desert creepers crawled and twisted around the latticework, clinging on for dear life. Now that his eyes had adjusted to the light, Erik now had a slight inkling where he was.

He ran a hand over the smooth cotton of his mattress. The bed was a solid, utilitarian affair, a complete turnaround from his own lavish futon at home. The sheets were crisp and white, except for a dried brown smear of blood which Erik expected had come from his wound. A further glance at the bedside table confirmed his suspicions: there were bottles of what looked like healing potions, along with a spare set of bandages and a glass of half-drunk mint tea. However, what Erik didn’t expect to see was the familiar black slate haphazardly tossed aside on the table, still smudged with chalk, and he felt a lump rise in his throat at the sight of it. 

The door swung open, and Charles - hollow-eyed and pale with exhaustion - walked in carrying a tray bearing a cloth and a bowl. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw Erik was up, and the obvious delight in his expression as he ran over threatened to bring the lump back up Erik’s throat. Charles perched himself on the side of the bed, and his hands felt cool on Erik’s feverish skin, stroking his brow before cupping his face.

“You’re here.” The words came out before Erik realised how redundant they sounded, but in his weakened state, he hadn’t been able to hide his joy at seeing Charles. Embarrassed, he gestured around the room. “Am I in the Healing Gardens?”

Charles nodded, the tiny frown between his eyebrows easing in relief. It had probably saved him an explanation. Erik had only ever seen the Gardens once, from the outside, many years ago. It was a healing sanctuary that the first Patriarch had ordered to be built, a sanitarium where he had sent his injured soldiers to for healing. A few of Erik’s men had been sent here, but that was the extent of his knowledge of the Gardens. Erik had never suffered so serious an injury that he needed to stay here, not having met anyone swifter with a sword than himself.

Well, until now. Erik shot a dark look down at his bandaged shoulder. He couldn’t will away the sharp memory of the woman in grey, staring down her sword at him as she dispassionately watched him bleed to death. He wanted to swear vengeance, to hunt her down and make her pay, but a small voice in the deepest part of him reminded him that she _could_ have killed him if she so wanted. She could. Another forward thrust of her sword, and Erik would have died out there in the desert, nameless and alone. Darwin and Raven wouldn’t have known what happened to him. 

_Charles_ wouldn’t.

Erik sat in silence as Charles carefully undid his bandages to check his wound, then wrapped him up in fresh bandages this time. Watching Charles work was soothing in a way Erik couldn’t quite describe, and so was his nearness. Inhaling deeply, Erik could smell the piney, antiseptic scent of yarrow, as well as the playful floral scent from the surrounding moonflowers. And, underneath it all, something warm and earthy and _male_ that was definitely Charles. Erik let out a shaky breath, averting his gaze from Charles’. The worst thing he could do to repay Charles, who was so efficiently taking care of him, was to make him feel like some bedroom slave.

As though seemingly sensing his thoughts, Charles drew back slowly, letting out a tired sigh before picking up the used bandages around him. Erik watched him leave, then sank back into the bed, staring up at the lattice wood ceiling until exhaustion overtook him again.

***

Healing was a long, slow process that Erik was reluctant to sit through, but it admittedly felt good to get as much rest as he wanted, and it definitely helped that Charles was around. Shaw had assigned the best palace physician to attend to Erik, but the man’s visits were short and perfunctory. It was Charles who applied the poultices and changed his bandages, who bore the brunt of Erik’s temper when he felt helpless, or when the pain got the better of him.

Darwin had brought the chess set over during his second visit, so Erik whiled away the time sharpening his chess strategies over several games with Charles. When he got restless, Charles would accompany him on walks around the rest of the gardens, which were so big that Erik still hadn’t finished exploring them after his first week there. They would always end their walks at the man-made waterfall that sat in the center of the Gardens, clear green water gushing into a rocky pool. Erik liked to sit at its edge and count the number of scattered silver riyals lying at the bottom, and he wondered if their owners had since had their wishes fulfilled.

“Here, you try,” Erik said one evening when they were having a game by the waterfall, handing Charles a coin he had found along a garden path. “Wish for something.”

Charles shot him a dry, amused look that was the verbal equivalent of, _Really, Erik?_ but he closed his eyes in a silent wish anyway. Erik’s eyes skated over those dark lashes and that red bow of a mouth, hoping Charles was impervious to the guilty weight of his gaze.

Opening his eyes, Charles tossed the coin into the pool with a small ‘plink’, and Erik watched it sink to the bottom. When he looked up, Charles was suddenly a lot closer, his eyes so blue and intent. Erik licked his lips, his heart skittering in his chest just as they heard voices and footsteps coming from behind the waterfall, and Charles hurriedly backed away, cheeks flushed an endearing pink.

“Erik!” It was Shaw, flanked by Azazel and Janos and a dozen other palace guards. Erik, so attuned to Charles’ body language after so much time spent together, sensed the exact moment Charles’ shoulders tensed and his brow darkened. Now Charles was stepping aside to make way for Shaw and his men, but Shaw didn’t even notice him, pulling up his robes and moving forward to gingerly embrace Erik, carefully avoiding his wound. “I see you are in better spirits.”

“It is all the rest I have gotten,” Erik said, nodding at Azazel and Janos as well. “Thank you for allowing me to stay in the palace gardens.”

Shaw waved away his gratitude. “Come now, it is the least I could do after you have saved my life and countless others’.”

Erik looked down, his ears burning. “It is but my duty.”

“I shall throw a feast in your honour when you are well again,” Shaw said, before a messenger came running into the gardens, huffing and out of breath. 

“My Lord, the delegates from Semiha are here,” the boy said with a deep bow.

“So soon? They are a day early.” Shaw did not bother to hide the displeasure on his face, not that Erik was surprised. Genosha had a rather rocky relationship with the Semihans, whom Shaw saw as heathens who rejected the Maker in favour of worshipping their clay idols. If it weren’t for trade and an uneasy alliance involving military aid, Erik doubted Shaw would have made the effort to play the gracious host. 

“I’m afraid I must be going, but I will come again,” Shaw said, rising to his feet. “Azazel, you may stay and brief Erik, but Janos, I’ll need you as an interpreter in case the Semihans can’t understand Genoshan again.”

As Shaw and his royal entourage left, Azazel sunk down onto the seat beside Erik, more relaxed and loose-limbed. “You look like death warmed over,” Azazel told him mock-seriously, and Erik shoved him.

“I can see you’re all getting insolent and lazy since I’m no longer around to keep you on your toes,” Erik said dryly, to which Azazel barked out a laugh.

“I miss you too, Lehnsherr.” Azazel was grinning widely, the scar over his left eye deepening. He reached out and touched the phoenix pendant on Erik’s neck. “So it _is_ your boy that gave you this, right?”

“Lay off,” Erik said sharply, his eyes darting over to where Charles was standing some distance away by the _basora_ bushes, examining the flowers and apparently disinterested in the conversation. 

Azazel, whose eyes were notoriously sharp (despite the teasing about the eye wound that had earned him his scar) had apparently not missed the flicker of Erik’s eyes earlier. “You should thank him, actually, and not just for the pendant,” he asked in a lowered voice, canting his head in the direction where Charles was standing. “Since we found you and brought you back, he has not once left your side.”

This wasn’t a conversation that Erik wanted to have with Azazel at this time, or in fact, _ever_. “Shaw said you had something to brief me about?”

It wasn’t a question, and something in Azazel’s face closed off, causing a twinge of regret in Erik. Azazel was his oldest friend, or at least a friend whose salary and living he wasn’t responsible for. But it was too late, for Azazel was moving on, brisk and businesslike. “We know the identity of the woman in grey who attacked us,” Azazel said gravely. “Familiar with the Silver Bandit?”

“No.” It didn’t matter to Erik what name she had. He doubted he could ever get her cold, flinty eyes out of his head. “What about her? Why did she attack us?”

“She was going for Shaw, obviously,” Azazel said. “I’ve heard of her before in Semiha, she’s supposedly one of the highest paid assassins. Rumour has it that she’s gone straight and is working for very powerful entities.”

Erik was perplexed. “So you’re thinking it’s Marko?”

Azazel lifted his shoulder in a shrug. “It could be,” he said, plucking an eisenflower at random and pulling off its petals. “Who else would have the money to hire her?”

Erik didn’t answer. Shaw may have been a fair ruler, but he wasn’t short on enemies. “It doesn’t explain why she didn’t finish me off, though.”

There was a wicked gleam in Azazel’s eyes. “What a damn shame.”

Erik kicked at his shin, which made Azazel laugh. “Anyway, I should get going before Shaw ends up throttling the Semihan delegates,” Azazel said, scattering the torn petals into the pool.

“Come visit me more often,” Erik said, although he didn’t really mean it. It was more of an attempt to thaw whatever it was between them that had frozen earlier.

“Of course.” Azazel shot a meaningful look at Charles, who bowed as Azazel departed. 

“Sorry about that,” Erik said, pulling forth the chess board again. It was a shame that they had been interrupted, but Charles sat a careful distance away from him this time, and Erik tried his best to mask his disappointment. “Another round?”

They played until the sun began to sink into the horizon.

***

At night, Erik didn’t like to stay in his room because it was sometimes a little stuffy and, for lack of a better word, _damp_. Charles usually lit at least four lamps so they could play chess if Erik so pleased, but Erik was beginning to tire of it. He suspected that Charles was taking it easier on him since he was recovering, but whenever he voiced it, Charles always shook his head, his eyes wide and innocent. Damn those eyes; Charles knew how to put them to maximum effect to get what he wanted.

Finally, Erik found something to occupy his time at night. There was a small pavillion next to the waterfall, its pillars and roof made of the same white latticed woodwork as Erik’s room, but the lack of walls allowed the night breeze to pass through. If it was chilly (which it often was), Charles would simply bring down more lamps. The light from these - and the three shrinking moons overhead in the sky - were enough to see by if Erik wanted to read.

He didn’t read, though. He often borrowed Charles’ slate and chalk, and he would sit in the pavillion, sketching the different flowers he had come to know and recognise. The drawings were not half-bad even though all he had to draw by was the low, flickering light of the lamps, and Charles would often look over his shoulder at the board, nodding in approval.

On one particularly hot night, Erik was too uninspired. The heat had seeped into his brain, making it hard to be imaginative. He had drawn every flower possible, so he didn’t know what else he could sketch. Before he knew what he was doing, he was drawing an oval for a face, then topped it with loose, slightly shaggy waves. The eyes were wide, imploring. Regretting that he did not have blue chalk, Erik continued sketching the rest of the face, then dotted two freckles on the nose with a flourish. The result was rather impressive. “Charles?” Erik called out, pleased.

It was a while before Charles appeared, carrying a jar of oil to top up the lamps and a new poultice for Erik’s wound. Erik waved him over, and Charles set the items down, coming to stand behind Erik and looking over Erik’s shoulder at the slate on Erik’s lap.

"What do you think?" Erik refused to allow himself to think about Charles’ proximity, or the way his breath warmed the back of Erik’s neck. “I know it’s not the best likeliness, but--”

He stopped talking when he felt Charles tipping his chin up, and he turned his head so that he could face Charles, who was now bending down so his head was level with Erik’s. In the light Erik could see Charles’ soft, affectionate smile. His eyes, bright and moonflower blue, traced every single inch of Erik’s face. A warm hand covered the phoenix pendant around Erik’s neck, pressing it against his collarbone, and Erik thought he would never forget the shape and weight of it, branded into his skin.

“Charles,” he whispered. Charles only drew closer, those red lips parted as he brushed them against Erik’s open mouth.

And, because Erik was only a man, he kissed back.

Charles’ lips were soft and plush, moist from constant licking, and Erik nuzzled against them, heat rising in his belly at the soft, slick noises of their kisses. The angle was a little awkward for Erik to do what he wanted, which was to completely possess that sweet, red mouth. His hunger for Charles was straining at the reins, roaring through him like fire. He needed Charles like he needed to breathe.

Charles had already released his pendant and was now raking his fingers through Erik’s hair, and Erik never knew his scalp had so many nerve endings, because Charles’ touch was making heat explode under his skin, setting alight a fire that Erik could barely withstand. He shifted to his right so he and Charles could kiss properly, and _oh the Maker_ , once their mouths aligned Charles was firmly taking control of the kiss, his tongue stroking deeply into Erik. Not quite believing that this was happening, Erik closed his eyes and happily allowed Charles to plunder as much of his mouth as he wanted, making a soft drugged moan when Charles tongued his bottom lip.

They broke apart, and the way Charles looked almost made Erik want to tackle him to the ground. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes dark with arousal, ringed with blue, and his mouth was red, kiss-bruised. Erik couldn’t help brushing a thumb against that plush bottom lip, letting out a sharp gasp as Charles parted his lips so Erik’s thumb could slip in. The wet slide of it wrung a groan out of Erik, intoxicated by the moist heat of Charles’ mouth. And then Charles was pushing his hand aside, straddling Erik’s lap and kissing him again, their noses bumping together. Erik let his mouth be ravaged by Charles, slipping a hand under his tunic to palm the warm skin. 

A misplaced hand against Erik’s injured shoulder made him hiss, and Charles immediately pulled his hand back as though he had been burnt, desire warring with concern on his face. “I’m all right, I’m all right,” Erik assured him, even though Charles wouldn’t be placated until he had checked the wound. As his features eased in relief, Erik leaned up and gave him a peck on the lips, making Charles grin.

“Come on, let’s go back to the sanitorium,” Erik said, nuzzling against Charles’ mouth to steal another kiss, and it was a while yet before they made it upstairs to the room.

***

The bed was barely big enough for two, but Charles fit against him like a puzzle, his hips a perfect perch for Erik’s questing hands and his legs slotting perfectly in between Erik’s. They hadn’t moved beyond kissing, because Erik wasn’t sure how well his shoulder had healed, but Charles solved the problem for him by pushing him down to lie on his back. “You’re a bossy one,” Erik said with a grin, and yelped when Charles rubbed a thigh between his legs with a knowing grin. His lips were bruised, kiss-swollen, and Erik brushed a thumb against the tempting curve of his bottom lip. _I made them this way,_ he thought with wonder, and then his jaw dropped as Charles started sucking on his thumb, cheeks provocatively hollowed. It made Erik _burn_.

Charles seemed to get the idea of what Erik wanted, because he was kissing a path down Erik’s chest, his tongue laving against a nipple until Erik cried out, hands rooted in Charles’ hair. Charles’ wet, hot mouth was now moving down his stomach, and Erik lifted his hips as Charles kissed the demarcation between Erik’s stomach and the paler triangle of his groin, and Erik’s cock was already shamelessly curving upwards towards Charles’ mouth, seeking its home.

Erik let out an obscene moan as Charles brushed his cherry-red lips against the head of Erik’s cock, kissing away the moisture pooled there before tentatively taking the tip into his mouth. The sight of those beautiful, swollen lips stretched thickly around Erik’s cock was making Erik pant, his hips uncontrollably bucking upwards into that hot, slick wetness. And then Charles was slowly straining to take in more of Erik, like he was dying for more of Erik’s cock in his mouth, and Erik assisted him with the tiniest of pushes, stroking that dark head lovingly, fire pulsing through his veins. 

He tried so hard to hold back his climax, but it had been a long time since anyone, and he didn’t even have time to warn Charles before he spilled into his mouth, his vision whiting out, and an abortive attempt at Charles’ name sounded more like a low groan. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Erik gasped, still trying to recover from the amazing orgasm, but Charles had crawled up and was pecking Erik’s open mouth with kisses, and Erik tasted himself. He held Charles close and searched out the hot stiffness poking into his thigh, wrapping a hand around it and making Charles gasp. Erik stroked Charles the way he liked it himself, long and slow with a building momentum. Charles’ eyes were a shocked blue as he came all over Erik’s hand and stomach, and Erik still wouldn’t let him go, peppering his face with kisses. 

At some point Erik reluctantly released Charles so he could fetch a cloth and clean both of them up, and once Charles was done, Erik took him into his arms again, their chests and stomachs and thighs pressed together, legs entwined, and Erik slept deeply that night, without any dreams or nightmares, Charles’ hair occasionally tickling his nose.


	6. Chapter 6

_In this house of mud and water,  
my heart has fallen to ruins.  
Enter this house, my Love, or let me leave._

* * *

When the three moons were thin again, the palace physician told Erik that he was almost fully recuperated and he could go home. It was almost a shame to leave the beautiful, majestic gardens, but Erik admittedly missed the homespun chaos of _Le Maison Rouge_ and his staff. “I don’t miss Darwin’s terrible cooking, though,” he told Charles, who broke into a wide grin. 

It took much longer to get home because the horses went at a canter instead of a gallop, much to Charles’ insistence. Erik understood that Charles was concerned about his injury, so he acquiesced to the slower ride, taking the opportunity to enjoy the scenery he had always ignored. Visitors who came from foreign lands were always surprised to find that Genosha was not entirely composed of sand and dust. There were rocky landscapes, oases, the short scrubby grass that rapidly spread through the countryside faster than lightning. Erik watched as a group of children outside a farm tried to feed a disinterested camel some stewleaves, and when he turned to where Charles was riding on his right, Charles was watching them as well, his smile fond and soft at the edges.

They received a warm welcome at home, where Darwin had prepared a feast and Raven fussed over Erik so much that he almost wished he were back in the Healing Gardens, with Charles. After a short, elegant dance performed by Angel and the girls, everyone sat around the verandah passing around the shisha pipe and filling Erik in on the gossip he had missed when he was away. Abu was unsuccessfully trying to court a _mujra_ dancer from Shaw’s court, while a goat had wandered into Darwin’s garden and eaten half of his vegetables, before somehow getting into the house as well. Erik laughed as Angel described her shock of discovering the goat in the living room, munching placidly on one of Raven’s scarves.

It was nice to catch up, but Erik was only idly paying attention to the conversation because Charles had somehow come to lean against him, his chin resting on Erik’s good shoulder. It was hard not to be driven insane by how good Charles smelled, like sweat and soap and rosewater, and he was close enough that if Erik turned, their mouths would meet. Erik frowned down at his lap instead, willing his eager cock to behave. As tempting as it was to push Charles down onto the cushions and just _have_ him in front of everyone, this thing between him and Charles felt private, like a rare jewel stowed away in a treasure box.

They talked late into the night, and finally Darwin suggested that Erik should rest after his tiring day. Erik readily agreed, although it wasn’t necessarily rest that he was after.

The trek to his room felt longer than it actually should have, and Erik couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes trailing his every move, as though they knew what had transpired between Charles and him at the palace, and were conspiring to catch them in the act again. Such thoughts were ludicrous, he knew, and he repeated that to himself scoldingly as he let himself in, then sank against the door. 

He washed his face in the bowl of water by his window, then disrobed and got into bed, staring at the ceiling. It felt like hours had passed before the handle to his door turned, and it creaked open. Then it closed again, and Erik held his breath until Charles crawled into his bed, and what Erik could see of his face - in slices of moonlight - was pale and taut.

Their mouths instantly found each other, Charles’ tongue stroking into Erik’s mouth and making him groan. Erik ignored the dull pain in his shoulder as he rolled Charles under him, sucking on his collarbone and surprising a soft, breathy moan out of him. Charles’ fingers sank into his hair, alternating between gentle tugs and deliciously painful pulls when Erik increased the force of his suction. He had come to learn that Charles was beautifully responsive to every touch, caress, lick. He wanted to give Charles wild, unrestrained pleasure, to make him so happy and loved that he would never leave.

He left a row of kisses down Charles’ chest and stomach, following the trail of dark hair that disappeared below his sleeping trousers. At this point Erik looked up at Charles’ flushed face. “I’m going to take these off you,” he said, keeping his eyes locked with Charles as he slowly, slowly tugged them down, the waistband bunching over the curve of Charles’ cock, and Charles was biting his lip in anticipation as he nodded. “And then,” Erik continued, moving his pants completely and flinging them away, “I’m going to suck you until you lose your mind, and then fuck you until I’ve lost mine.”

Charles’ eyes fluttered shut and his hips involuntarily arched up against Erik, making the head of his cock bump against Erik’s chin, leaving a wet smear. Erik’s mouth watered as he took Charles’ flushed cock in his hand, stroking slowly. He loved how Charles tasted, salty and slightly bitter, and he started sucking gently on the tip, his good arm holding Charles down as he thrashed about under Erik’s mouth. Seeing Charles unravelling like this under him was a privilege: dark hair recklessly mussed, eyes a burning blue, pale skin flushed and reddened where Erik had grabbed him or rutted against him.

Now he was sucking Charles in earnest, and a quick upwards glance showed Charles’ mouth was a pink open ‘O’ of pleasure, eyes squeezed shut, neck arched and asking to be sucked on. Erik let Charles’ cock slip out, unable to resist such a perfect picture of debauchery any longer, and reached for the tin of salve on his bedside table meant for healing massages. Slicking his fingers, Erik slid his hands between Charles’ thighs and sought his entrance, thrusting in and making Charles moan against his cheek. Erik forced himself to prepare Charles as much as he could, but when Charles started rubbing the arch of his foot against Erik’s backside, Erik slicked himself as well and slid home into Charles, their mouths open and gasping together.

“Charles....” Erik was shocked by the low growl he produced, consumed by the sweet heat gripping his cock. Charles was so tight, so tight, and pain was warring with hungry pleasure on his face. Erik could watch him forever. He cradled Charles’ head in his hands, just so Charles couldn’t turn away and Erik had free reign to catalogue every single expression that flitted across his face.

Then Erik angled his hips just so, and _oh_ , Charles huffed out a soft, pleading moan, and Erik obliged, ignoring the throbbing dull pain in his shoulder as he fucked Charles like a crazed man, panting with his nose pressed against that sweet peachy skin, the futon creaking with his thrusts. Charles had thrown his legs around Erik’s hips, and Erik could feel the sharp line of scratches down his back, and the thought of Charles marking him was sublime.

He took Charles into hand, and Charles lasted only a few strokes before spurting onto their chests and bellies and Erik’s knuckles. And then Erik couldn’t resist stealing a kiss from that open mouth, his tongue stroking in deep, tasting every last inch of his mouth. But he had to pull away for breath as he came deep inside Charles, his vision whiting out briefly as he buried his face in Charles’ neck, and he was only vaguely aware of Charles stroking his hair gently, holding him close as though Erik would be spirited away if he let go.

***

Erik was allowed another month to recuperate before returning to court, and he was happy enough to be lulled into the quiet domesticity at _Le Maison Rouge_. After the festival, Darwin usually needed help with the storing of decorations and general cleaning duties. They had enough manpower to take care of this, but Erik didn’t like being idle so he helped where he could. On the first day of washing the windows, one of the new servants watched open-mouthed as the master of the house worked side-by-side with his staff, but by the third day he had finally stopped gawking at Erik, and Erik was relieved.

The nights stretched out into one long, endless blur spent entirely with Charles in his bed, both of them rocking together into ecstasy, or sometimes just entwined in the sheets, hands clasped, Erik tucking his knees behind Charles’. They didn’t fool themselves into thinking it was a secret. The laundry maids had stopped changing Charles’ sheets, because they were now busy washing Erik’s on a daily basis. Charles had moved his few possessions into Erik’s room, and if anyone was looking for either of them, Erik’s room was always the first stop.

No one openly broached the topic with him, although Darwin’s sidelong glances and Raven’s teasing smiles were hard to miss. Charles behaved as he always had with Erik, and it burned sometimes, to not be able to touch Charles the way he wanted in front of the others. But he was content enough to spend his entire evenings and nights with Charles in his room and in his bed. It was enough, for now.

***

“I’m sorry, my lord?” Erik’s first thought was that he had not heard Shaw correctly.

Shaw tilted his head a little, but his gaze never wavered. “Which part did you have difficulty understanding?” 

“About Emma, I wasn’t sure what you--”

“I thought I made myself clear.” Shaw’s words were clipped and curt as he narrowed his eyes at Erik. “You will lead a second wedding procession, but I shall not attend, for security reasons. I will still be your sponsor, of course.”

Erik stared at Shaw. It felt like someone had cleaved his chest open. “But-- my lord, I cannot--”

“Erik.” Shaw looked more astonished than anything else. “What is this? This is not becoming of an Elite Knight.” He lowered his voice so that the guards, who were at the end of the hall, wouldn’t hear. “What’s the matter with you?”

The paternal concern in Shaw’s voice just made the emotional maelstrom in Erik’s mind worse. “I thought you were marrying Emma, my lord.” The words _I thought you loved her_ drifted between them, unsaid but heavy in the air.

Maybe it was the wrong thing to say, because Shaw’s face was now pinched and tight. “The Frost clan places a heavy emphasis on heirs to carry on the royal line,” he said, his voice a soft monotone. “I can’t give Emma that.”

“But I--”

 _“Erik.”_ Shaw’s tone was so cold and furious that it felt like a physical rebuke. “This is the highest honour, for this marriage will cement our allegiance with the Outland tribes. I do not trust anyone else to do this, to rule by proxy. You will be my eyes and ears.”

A marriage of convenience, then. Erik didn’t trust his voice not to waver, so he stared at the floor, biting on the inside of his cheek. The green diamond pattern swam in front of his eyes like a mirage.

“Really, Erik, I’m surprised at you.” The tension in Shaw’s shoulders had eased slightly, and he was leaning back in his chair, hands steepled in front of his chin. “Talking back like this...it’s not like you, son.”

Something bristled in Erik at being addressed so patronizingly, as though he were still a frightened boy of twelve. Sebastian Shaw would always and forever have a hold on him that felt too complex to put into words. There was gratitude, surely - Shaw had made him the man he was today - and at the same time there was an underlying visceral fear, because Erik knew exactly what Shaw was capable of.

“It’s that male servant of yours, isn’t it?” Shaw’s lips were pursed in displeasure, his eyes flicking down to the phoenix pendant. “The fair, sweet-mouthed one.”

“ _Charles_.” Blood was pounding in Erik’s ears. He would not have Charles dismissed as as easily as this. 

Shaw only gave him a dismissive wave. “The chattel merely tides us over, Erik. Servants are only an amusement. Surely you didn’t think you had a future with this Charles.”

The rage was bitter in his throat. “My lord, permission to be excused.” Erik bowed so that Shaw couldn’t see his face, twisted in fury.

“I’ll need your answer, Erik.” But it was a formality, of course. Shaw had expressed his expectations, and Erik was in the business of forcing those expectations on other people. He had never, ever imagined he would ever be on the receiving end of Shaw’s... 'requests'. Shaw dismissed him with a nod, and Erik was almost blind with rage as he stumbled out into the corridors. A passing palace maid immediately gave him a wide berth when she caught sight of his expression.

Erik didn’t immediately go home. Instead he made his way to the Gardens, and the room he and Charles had once occupied was now clean and bare. Erik ignored a page who shot him a curious glance, wandering out to the verandah where he looked down at the waterfall for a very long time, until the sky had turned dark.

***

Almost everyone in the house was asleep by the time Erik let himself in, but he could still see light under the door of his room. Charles was still up, then, probably waiting for him. Erik trudged down the corridor with a heavy heart. This particular conversation wasn’t one he was willing to have now, or ever.

The sight of Charles waiting naked under his sheets stopped his breath, and Erik leaned against the doorway, taking in the playful quirk of Charles’ mouth, the dark heat in his eyes and his pinkish hue of his skin, decorated by scatterings of freckles thanks to the desert sun. Charles was one of those few people whose skin had a tendency to burn instead of tan, and even after so long here, strangers still stopped him at the souk to ask if he was ill. Erik found his paleness beautiful and exotic, and nightly worshipped all that pale expanse of skin accordingly.

Erik’s smile faded as he remembered what had happened at court earlier. Charles must have seen the look on his face, for he was now sitting up in concern, patting the bed beside him. His eyebrows were drawn together in a frown as he cocked his head at Erik. _Everything all right?_

Sitting down on the bed, Erik found he couldn’t even enjoy the simple comfort of Charles kneading his shoulders. No point drawing it out, then. “Shaw wants me to marry Emma.”

The hands on his shoulders stilled, then fell away. When Erik mustered the courage to risk a glance, Charles’ face was white, stricken. His hands lay uselessly on his lap.

“I can talk to Shaw,” Erik said desperately, taking one of those hands. It felt cold and limp. “It is only a marriage of convenience. There are other far more suitable candidates, Shaw clearly hasn’t thought this through.”

 _Except,_ a soft voice whispered insidiously in the back of Erik’s mind, _that is not true._ Shaw was someone who placed immense thought behind his decisions, who knew how to bide his time before going to war. Erik suddenly remembered all those times Emma had playfully flirted with him and how Shaw had tolerated it all along with nothing more than a tightening of his jaw. It all made sense now. Shaw had been thinking of this for a long time.

Erik’s mounting despair must have leaked through, because Charles was pulling his hands away, blinking rapidly. The lines around his mouth and eyes now stood out starkly in the flickering lamp light, making Charles look like he had aged considerably in the past few minutes. Erik reached out to palm his face, but at the last second his hand changed trajectory and it hovered over the pendant he had given Charles, where it rested in the valley of his collarbone.

“Don’t be so cold,” Erik pleaded, and now Charles was looking up at him, his eyes unusually bright. Erik said nothing for the longest time, but even if he knew what to say, how could he speak? It was common enough for a man to take a male lover, but marriage was reserved for women. 

Charles’ face was tight with distress, his eyes unseeing as he stared off into space. Erik had seen this contemplative look before, when Charles had been trying to come up with a solution for one of Darwin’s household issues. This was good, right? It meant Charles was trying to think of a way to circumvent this and he wouldn’t run, he wouldn’t leave Erik.

“I wouldn’t marry Emma,” Erik said, taking Charles by the shoulders and trying to catch his eye, but it seemed fruitless. Something in Charles’ face had shut down and it was impossible to read him now, much like the first time Erik had seen him out in the desert, his face hidden by the scarf and veil. “You...mean a lot to me.”

Charles went very still, but at least he was now looking directly at Erik. Reaching out to cup his face, Erik let a thumb brush at the crinkles at the corners of Charles’ eyes. Charles’ arms were as cold as ice as they wrapped around Erik’s neck, and they sat like this for a long while, until Erik’s back started to ache, but it was only second to the one deep in his chest.

***

Erik couldn’t remember when they had fallen asleep, but he woke up to Charles sitting astride his hips, hands splayed on his chest. Charles’ hair was in complete disarray, falling into his red-rimmed eyes, and Erik instinctively reached out to brush those errant strands back without thinking. “Are you all right?” Erik asked in a hush.

Charles fixed him with a _look_ , and instantly the events of the day came flooding back to Erik, tempering the vibrant joy Charles’ presence always brought him. Erik took a deep breath to steady himself, and Charles’ hands rose and fell with his chest, the heat from his palms burning into his skin.

“Come here,” Erik whispered, and Charles bent down, brushing his lips against Erik’s. The kiss was frantic and bruising, as though they were afraid they could get discovered any time, and Erik got swept up in the urgency of it, clinging onto Charles’ biceps with an iron grip. Their coupling this time was almost desperate, fierce, and Erik fell into it with his entire being, giving everything of himself to Charles as he thrust into him repeatedly, Charles’ legs locked tight around his waist. Erik repeatedly told himself that this was not a farewell, that Charles would not be taken from him just as he had found him. Still Erik clutched at him even harder, bruising that beautiful pale skin, and Charles clung to him equally tightly, burying his face in Erik’s shoulder hot with hidden tears. And when Erik came, spilling into Charles and crying out into his neck, he knew that there were a few things he would die fighting for, and this was one of them.

***

When Erik opened his eyes, he saw Charles’ black pendant resting on the pillow next to his. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he frowned down at the empty space, then ran a hand across the sheets. They had been cold for some time.

His frantic search of the house and the compound turned out to be completely futile, and one of Darwin’s horses was missing from the stable. Erik mounted Magneto and searched everywhere he could, but it too was fruitless. By the time Erik trudged back to his room, sweaty and heaving and very much alone, he was trying not to throw up. He only noticed the slate later, after the storm of his panic had passed and the deep chill of sorrow was starting to set in his bones. 

On the slate was, _I want you to be happy._ And at the bottom, in smaller shaky writing, _Please forgive me_.

Erik hurled the slate at the wall with all the force he could muster, and it cracked into two, landing on the floor in separate pieces. He tried to pick them up so he could toss them out, but his blurred vision made it hard to see, and in the end he just sank down heavily on Charles’ side of the bed, wiping furiously at his eyes.

***

It didn’t take long for Erik to finally decide to pack a bag with the necessary supplies. It would be hard to track down the route Charles had taken, but not entirely impossible. The B’oktuan robes that Charles had been wearing in Marko’s house were also gone, so Erik had to be sure to look for a ‘woman’ when making his inquiries. There were also a few places that Erik suspected Charles may have gone to for refuge, so there were any number of possibilities.

“Just be careful,” Raven said, pale and anxious about Charles as well. What she said was moot, because Erik was _always_ careful, but he respected that her worry was causing her not to think properly. “Send a messenger if you need anything.”

“I will,” Erik said, which was an outright lie. He meant to do this entirely on his own. There was no point making her even more anxious, though. He hefted his bag onto his shoulder, then brought her in for a hug. “Look after the house while I’m not here.”

Raven held onto him tightly, and she was trembling ever so slightly, like a baby rabbit he had found as a boy. “Please find him and bring him back, Erik.”

Erik closed his eyes. “I will.” This time, he meant it.


	7. Chapter 7

_Last night you left me and slept  
your own deep sleep.   
Tonight you turn  
and turn._

* * *

As a boy Erik had learned to read simple tracks left by the more obvious animals, such as the lazy, sleepy-eyed caravan camels and the mountain hunting cats that stalked them. Over time, his father - before his untimely death - had taught him how to read the more complicated tracks. Large, blunt claws always belonged to a digging animal (such as the greater Semihan anteater) and sharp, delicate claws were likely to be the tracks of a climber (the yellow flying foxes).

When Erik joined Shaw’s army, his tracking skills became extremely useful, although he was no longer tracking only animals.

People were infinitely more clumsy, unlike animals whose primitive instincts were to cover their trail and evade predators. People left litter, food remnants, the stubbed-out butts of their hand-rolled _bidis_. Granted, Charles had been careful to leave none of these behind, but it was not enough to deter Erik from his trail.

On the first day Charles had travelled up the first half of the Gunpowder Road, alone - Erik was certain of that much. But sometime on the second morning, Charles’ tracks appeared to have veered off the main path and onto one of the dustier side roads that led to the smaller villages on the outer edges of the kingdom, right before the sand dunes. Erik ignored the clumsy cacophony of tracks left by travelling merchants and their mules, focusing instead on the fainter, less obvious traces of Charles. A footprint here, a dark, longish strand of hair there, and once, the sand-covered core of a dragon-apple, and Erik’s hand had trembled when he had picked it up.

By the second day, Erik was beginning to fend off more and more doubts. Charles’ supposed trail, which he had been so sure of, was leading him further down into a canyon where he could see the jutting bones of dusty carcasses scattered here and there. Erik paused at the crest of a sand dune, no longer certain. There was the very unpleasant suggestion of a thought that maybe Charles had deliberately led him astray.

Squinting, Erik shielded his eyes as he tried to trudge back the way he had come. He was running a little low on water, but he still had a few dried dates he could eat. If he could make his way back to the oasis he had passed yesterday, then he would be able to refill his sagging water skin. 

But Erik must have made a wrong turn somewhere, because one sand dune looked like any other, and the oasis that he had been so sure of was nowhere to be found. Even with his parched throat and baked lips he thought of Charles, wanted to hold him down and shout it into his thick skull that if he walked away, Erik would always walk after him, and if he sounded desperate and pathetic, then Charles had made him that way. The merciless sun, indifferent to his pain, continued to burn down on Erik as he trudged through the desert, conjuring up visions of swaying trees and cool, cool water, conjuring up pale, firm hands smoothing his brow, and mischievous, flashing eyes.

Even as he was furious with Charles for misleading him, he couldn’t stop himself from casting glances around him at the vast, barren landscape and thinking, _I hope you are safe._

***

It would only be for a while, he decided. He could barely stay upright, licking uselessly at his lips, his water skin long empty. It really wouldn’t hurt if he lay down for a while to reserve all his remaining strength, right? But the sun was going to set in a few hours, and Erik would have to make it to the nearest village by then before the night chill set in.

 _Just a while_ , he thought, sinking to his knees and curling on his side. _Just a while_.

***

When Erik opened his eyes, someone was looming over him. Normally his first reaction would have been to jump up and scramble away, but acute dehydration had left him weak and muddle-headed. His head was cradled in someone’s lap, the linen of the trousers scratchy against his cheek. Calloused fingers were caressing his brow, and Erik blinked up at his benefactor. Joy leapt into his throat as he took in the familiar lines of Charles’ face, his brow furrowed in worry. His eyes were the exact same bright, brilliant blue Erik remembered; it was like looking up at the sky.

“Charles?” His voice cracked, and Erik’s cough was dry and husky. His throat felt like he had swallowed a bucket of sand.

“You idiot.” Charles was blinking rapidly, his eyes fierce. Now Erik felt something wet and cool against his mouth. “Drink.”

Something niggled at him, a small voice telling him to pay attention. But the water was a sweet blessing, and Erik took long pulls of it, sucking hungrily. Although it was lukewarm, it still felt like the most refreshing drink he had ever had. The dizzying pounding in his head was starting to quieten, a slow restoration of his mental faculties. Now that he could think properly again, something was very odd.

He struggled to sit up, pushing away the nozzle of the water skin Charles was holding at his mouth as he narrowed his eyes at Charles. “W-wait. Did you say something to me?” 

Charles’ mouth was a thin, displeased line as he capped the water skin, refusing to look at Erik. For a moment, Erik wondered just how dehydrated he was, and whether he was hallucinating the whole thing. He reached out and shook Charles’ shoulder, as if to ascertain whether he was real. Then he pinched him.

“Ow, that hurt!” Charles shot him an incredulous look, but Erik just gaped at him.

“ _You can talk._ ” Erik just blinked, not quite sure how to process this information. Charles’ voice was soft, his accent cultured and aristocratic. Not quite far off from what Erik had imagined him to sound like, but he hadn’t thought for a second that he would actually ever hear Charles really talk. “You can-- why did you pretend?”

Charles let out a long, long sigh. “Erik, please drop the matter and walk away. Please.”

“Walk away?” Erik echoed in disbelief. “I followed you halfway across the desert. Do you really think I will just walk away now? And I think I deserve some answers, after all I’ve done for you.”

Charles’ face was pinched and unhappy as he stuffed the now empty water skin back into his travelling bag. Erik recognised the rucksack, a gift that Darwin had bought for Charles at the _souk_ before the festival. “I did what I had to,” was all he would say, a muscle in his jaw jumping. “I had to lie to protect you, to protect all of us. The truth will not bring you peace.”

The word ‘lie’ sparked off something deep inside Erik, igniting the very real fear that whatever had existed between Charles and him hadn’t been real. Between the wooziness in his head and Charles’ betrayal, he wanted to throw up. “What did you lie about?” Erik managed to grind out.

“Erik--”

“To hell with peace, Charles, now _tell me_ ,” Erik commanded, anger and exhaustion leaving him little patience for diplomacy.

Now Charles wouldn’t quite look at him, deep, unhappy brackets on either side of his mouth. “I spied on you, Erik,” he said, drawing in great breaths as though it pained him to say the words. “I spied on you, your household, Shaw--”

“Spying?” Erik said sharply. “On me, on _Shaw_? Why?”

“Oh, my friend.” Charles’ laugh was bitter. “If you only knew what Shaw has _done_.”

Erik wasn’t under any pretence that Shaw didn’t have enemies, or at least several skeletons in the closet. But then, he hadn’t expected Charles - of all people - to want to put an end to Shaw. “Why don’t you enlighten me?” He had meant for it to be dripping with sarcasm, but the exhaustion just made him sound feeble. He hated it.

Charles regarded him very seriously. “How much do you know of him when he was still a warlord?”

“I know enough,” Erik said. Shaw had done what needed to be done, and he wouldn’t be the first ruler to have done so. 

“So you know about the looting and the pillaging, then,” Charles said severely, even as Erik flinched just a little. “Growing armies need food, water and money, and Shaw had none of these--”

“He didn’t take _all_ of it by force.”

Charles let out an incredulous huff, and even now Erik was trying to let it sink in that not only could Charles talk, but he was extremely articulate as well. “All Shaw has ever known is war and strife,” Charles said. “And we have proof that he is planning to wage war on neighbouring lands.”

This was a little too overwhelming for Erik, although his face remained an impassive mask. “Who is ‘we’? And what is this so-called proof?”

Charles licked his lips once, then licked them again. Even now Erik was disgusted at himself for wanting to nuzzle his mouth against them. “The X Guild,” Charles said quietly. “Or rather, the X-Men. Our insignia is the phoenix.” He didn’t answer the other question.

“The phoenix,” Erik repeated, briefly touching the pendant around his neck and then something loosened in his chest. “Is that why the Silver Bandit didn’t kill me? Are you in league with her?”

Charles’ silence was as good as an answer, and it was like being hit on the head with a sledgehammer. Erik just couldn’t process any of this.

“Your _guild_ was plotting against us, and you wanted to use me to get to Shaw,” Erik said bitterly. 

“Shaw is not a good man, Erik.” Charles held Erik’s gaze, steady with certainty. “We had to go through you to obtain proof, you’re his right-hand man. I had no choice.”

So that was the real reason why Charles had been wearing B’oktuan robes. They had been angling for Erik all along. He just couldn’t believe this was happening; all of Charles’ words were like cut glass. “Why did you change your mind, then? Why did you leave when things were going so well for you? I was obviously none the wiser.”

Charles was quiet for a long moment, and when he spoke, his voice was taut and strained. “Erik, I fell for you so, _so_ hard--”

“Damn you, Charles,” Erik shouted, tightening his fists to quell his shaking hands. “You lied about everything, and how do I know you’re not lying about this too?”

The way Charles’ face crumpled at this accusation made Erik’s anger instantly evaporate. “I would never lie about _that_. I can prove it if you come with me.” Charles’ voice was low, wavering with anguish. “Erik, don’t be blind to Shaw, you don’t know what he’s done.”

Erik could feel the tips of his ears getting hot. “He brought me up, he raised me as his own when I had no family,” Erik said evenly, staring at Charles straight in the eye. “I would rather trust him over you.”

Charles’ chest was rising up and down like a bellows, his mouth pinched tight shut, his eyes blazing. “ _Then why did you come after me?_ ” he said through his teeth. 

In spite of the situation, Erik had to laugh. Why, indeed. He felt like the biggest fool in Genosha, and he had to be, for he should have known better than to venture into the sand dunes without water, to chase after someone who had left him. Tears burned in his eyes but he refused to let Charles see this one last weakness. “Is it not obvious?” he said bitterly, shaking his head. He was indeed a fool.

Charles’ mouth dropped open. “Oh, _Erik_.”

Pity was worse than outright disdain. “I’m going home,” Erik said, turning away. “Don’t come to me for anything.” He had meant to hurt Charles with those words, to cut as deeply as he could, so why was he feeling like the one with the wound?

Charles’ next - and last - words were heavy with regret and resignation. “Goodbye, Erik.”

***

The court physician said that Erik was quite severely dehydrated after his (foolish) sojourn into the sand dunes, and ordered plenty of rest and fluids. Darwin brought bowl after bowl of a variety of healing soups, and Erik did not eat a drop. Raven came and tried to play backgammon with him, or show him some new martial arts moves that Azazel had taught her recently. Erik watched her and said nothing. Both Raven and Darwin had tried to ask Erik what had happened with Charles, but he had stubbornly remained tight-lipped on what transpired in the dunes. In the end Darwin just gave up, while Raven only narrowed her eyes at him, and at times he would catch her staring at the empty space on his neck where the absent phoenix pendant had once rested.

Charles would only be a memory now, and Erik systematically filed away his touches, his expressions, the warm heat of his skin pressed to Erik’s. But Erik was still haunted; Charles’ words were like marbles, rolling around in his head. _If you only knew what Shaw has done._ A small part of him did want to ask why Shaw made people nervous around him. Erik had noticed some of the serving girls approaching Shaw with such fear in their eyes, or patrons in bars falling into a silent hush when Erik announced whose business he was on.

Thankfully, this small part would always be drowned out by cool, rational logic. _Charles is a liar, and therefore he must be lying about this too._ Besides, Erik had only known him for six months. As for Shaw, Erik had been with him for most of his life. It was obvious whom he should trust more.

Logic was easier to face in the day, when he was surrounded by people who were worried about him. At night, it was different. At night, as Erik lay in bed staring at the empty space beside him, logic seemed flighty and elusive, like a nightingale in a dream.

***

Shaw came to see him on the third day of his recovery. “I warned you about servants, Erik,” he said, patting Erik’s arm. The worry lines around his eyes and mouth had deepened, and not for the first time, Erik wondered how old his mentor really was. Shaw had come to power when Erik had been fifteen, still a squire under Azazel’s wing, and even then Erik remembered that Shaw’s hair had already started to gray at the temples. Fifteen years later, that had spread to a healthy scattering of silver all over, enough to put him around his fifties, possibly. 

It made Erik wonder how old his own parents would be now, were they alive. Would they be in their fifties too, like Shaw? Or were they a couple who had married young and had Erik early? The thought of knowing so little about his birth parents caused a sharp pang in his chest, but at the same time he couldn’t shake off Charles’ words in the desert. _Ask him some questions about your past_ , Charles had challenged. 

“My lord,” Erik said, and the concern on Shaw’s face plucked a string within Erik that was causing him to get embarrassingly emotional. He quickly collected himself. “Could I ask you a few things about...my past?”

Shaw cocked his head at Erik, his eyes bright and alert now. “Of course, son. I may not know much about your life before you joined our family, but I shall try. What do you want to know?”

“I know you’ve already told me about my parents,” Erik said, tapping his fingers carefully on the sheet. “Did you know them?”

“They were merchants,” Shaw said, but there was something dismissive in his tone that Erik didn’t like. “They traded in metal, I think. At least that was what the caravan they were part of was carrying.”

Erik was watching him carefully. “I didn’t know this.”

“You didn’t?” Shaw gave him a small smile. “Now you do.”

“What about the bandits that killed them?” Erik’s fists tightened in the sheets. “Were they punished?” 

Shaw gave him a long, considering look. “They paid for their actions.”

Erik took this in, giving Shaw a sharp, single nod. Shaw had never let anything go unpunished -- that much he could believe. It seemed almost ungrateful, then, to harbour any thoughts about how the answer seemed almost unsatisfactory. Erik tamped down those little doubts along with whatever Charles had thrown at him. Shaw had raised Erik, had trained him to be his right hand man. Erik owed him a lot.

“You grew up to be a great example of a man.” Shaw’s voice was level, almost serene, his eyes solely trained on Erik. “You’ve made me so proud, Erik. You’ve come a long way.”

Erik hated his lower lip for trembling. “You made me who I am.”

A slow, pleased smile dawned on Shaw’s face. “And you’ve always done as I asked.”

This was the truth. Erik had already lost Charles, and the thought of also losing the man who had brought him up - and raised Erik as his own - filled the pit of Erik’s stomach with dread. “And I will continue to do so.” It was almost a whisper, but judging from the way Shaw’s smile widened, he had heard what Erik said.

“Then, about Emma...” he trailed off, looking at Erik expectantly.

Erik looked out of the window as he said yes.

***

When he saw Raven stomping into his bedroom later that evening, the other servants fleeing to get out of her way, Erik cursed himself for not having seen this coming. “Lock the door behind you,” he said curtly as he continued to examine the deed on his lap. 

“Are you _crazy_?” Raven dropped herself down on the side of the bed so hard that the deed fell off Erik’s lap, and he bent to pick it up. Her cheeks were bright red with fury. “You are officially crazy, and hopefully they will annul the marriage based on the grounds of complete insanity.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Erik chided her with a deep frown. “I did what I have to do.”

Raven shook her head at him. “So you’re marrying Emma to ‘serve your country’? Erik, marriage should be for love.”

“I don’t recall our marriage being arranged for the purposes of _love_ ,” Erik said as calmly as he could, but he sounded cold instead. “You of all people should know that people don’t always marry for love.”

He had thought that she would be hurt by his words, but to his surprise, Raven was laughing. Still, he didn’t miss the way she dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve. “And here I thought _you_ of all people would know why it’s important to.” Her voice sounded funny, almost thick.

He just stared at her, the words jammed in his throat. 

“You need to find Charles,” she said, low and urgent. “It’s not too late. Let Shaw worry about Emma-- hell, let him marry her, he’s half in love with her anyway--”

“It’s not as simple as that,” Erik said through his teeth. “Oh the Maker, you’re such a child sometimes!”

It was startling obvious the moment Raven went entirely rigid, her face a frozen mask. “Well, this _child_ believes that a man who rescued her so many years ago may need some rescuing of his own now.” Her tone was icy and chilled him to the bones, despite the heat wafting in through the flung-open windows.

“I don’t need any rescuing,” he said, and the way her face crumpled into a mass of tears would have openly affected him as little as a few days ago, but when she fled the room, her dancer’s anklets jingling like furious little bells, he did not go after her.


	8. Chapter 8

_The amount I thought I'd won, I've lost.  
My prayers becomes bitter and all about blindness. _

_How wonderful it was to be for a while, with those who surrender._

* * *

The air was thick with incense and the sweet, cloying scent of moringa, but Erik was already used to the strange smells filling the house since wedding preparations had started a week ago. A harassed Darwin had been running all over the place, dealing with merchants and visitors and the untimely arrival of Emma’s soldiers, who had a habit of sleeping wherever they wanted and being not too fond of baths. At the busiest times, Erik would catch Darwin’s eye, and Darwin would shoot him his all-too-familiar, despairing ‘ _what are you doing?_ ’ look that made Erik want to stop and ask himself the same thing. Darwin would never come right out and question him, of course, but Erik felt the full brunt of his disapproval nonetheless.

A few staff from the palace had come over to help as well. Ororo had brought two seamstresses with her, while Alex came over to assist with the sudden influx of horses crowding Erik’s stable. Even Azazel and Janos came over during the evenings, after the sun had set, and Raven put them to work making jasmine garlands and moving furniture around. Sitting in his room, Erik could hear the chatter and laughter floating up from the main hall, the clink of silverware being polished and laid out. He knew he should be feeling something, _some_ excitement or nervousness over getting married in a day’s time. 

His new life as Emma’s consort stretched out before him, a long, foggy road of question marks in a new culture, with new food and new people. But inside him, there was only a dead silence. There wasn’t even a flutter of worry, and Erik idly wondered if this was what the expression ‘dead on your feet’ meant. 

Fortunately, Erik couldn’t care less.

The night before the wedding, Shaw arrived at _Maison Rouge_ with great pomp and ceremony, wearing his finest Semihan silk robes and bearing a whole caravan of gifts that would go along with the wedding procession. Erik dutifully received him and showed him to his own room, the only one large and grand enough befitting a Patriarch, and the ones beside it went to Azazel, Janos and their men. 

Emma’s guards, as per the customs of their tribe, wanted to take Erik out for a wild bachelor night of drinking, and later, to visit the Street of Lights in the seedier quarters of Genosha. Erik declined as politely as he could while Darwin explained to the thunder-faced barbarians that there was a customary henna ritual Erik had to adhere to, which at least soothed some ruffled feathers.

After the barbarians had shifted out of the makeshift groom’s chamber, Darwin laid out the magnificent black and silver _kurta_ that Erik would be wearing for the wedding on the bed, then picked up the pot of henna for the ritual. It was tradition for every Genoshan man to have intricate patterns painted on his chest with henna on the night before the wedding, as a gift to his bride. From what he knew of Emma, she would only find it amusing, but Erik hadn’t said no when Darwin had asked. He had simply left all the decisions in the hands of Darwin, Angel and Emma’s wedding planner.

Darwin was now stirring the thick, earthy henna, his expression grave. “Erik, are you really going to do this?”

Erik finished drying his hair before mopping his chest with his towel. “Yes, let’s just get this done and over with.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Darwin’s eyes were so serious and intense that it was unnerving Erik a little. “Erik--”

“ _Enough_ ,” Erik said in a tone that very clearly stated he would like Darwin to drop the subject. He held Darwin’s gaze unflinchingly until Darwin looked away first with a sigh, motioning for Erik to lie down on the ottoman.

Darwin picked up one of the paper cones that Raven had folded earlier, filling one with the mud-like henna. Snipping off the pointed end and fashioning a makeshift squeeze-tube, Darwin pulled up a chair of his own and checked the lamps to make sure the light would last all night. Then he began to draw.

Erik watched at first, his eyes following the long, curly lines of Darwin’s intricate designs over his right chest bone. After a while it hurt to strain his neck as such, so he stared at the ceiling instead, listening to the various comforting sounds around the house. It was much more peaceful now that the barbarians had left for a tavern (they had apparently decided to celebrate Erik’s last night of bachelorhood without him) and there was only the low chatter of the staff hanging up decorations in the house. This late at night, many of the guests and staff were already asleep, including Shaw who had turned in after dinner. They had an early day tomorrow.

The soft jingle of anklets announced Raven’s presence before he saw her looming over him. “Looks very nice,” she told Darwin conversationally, earning her a grin.

“You know how long I practised?” he said, continuing his artwork.

“You have too much free time,” she said teasingly, before her eyes met Erik’s. She gave him a little nod, which he returned. For the past two weeks she had refused to speak to him, due to their argument, but she had thawed a little as the wedding approached. Now, she just looked sad. Erik didn’t want to admit how much he’d miss her, but he’d see her - and the rest - again whenever he came back to visit.

After watching Darwin at work for a while, she said, “I’m going to head back downstairs before Azazel burns down the kitchen.”

Darwin’s huff of laughter warmed Erik’s right shoulder. “Good luck with that,” he said, before suddenly cursing. “ _Ibn himar_! I made a mistake. I’ll need a wet towel.”

“Come down with me, then,” Raven said, her bracelets jingling as she headed out, and Darwin gave Erik a quick apologetic grin before following her.

Erik let out a sigh, clasping his hands over his stomach. The henna felt cold and wormy on his skin, and it was unthinkable that he would have to lay still for the rest of the night. Wasn’t he allowed one last good night of sleep before he had to leave for his new life in the Outlands? He tentatively touched one of the designs on his collarbone, smearing the henna between his fingers.

“It looks good on you,” a cultured, unfamiliar voice said from the corner of the room, near the verandah. “An interesting custom.”

Erik sat upright immediately, the drying henna on his chest forgotten. Charles was leaning against the wall, dressed entirely in black and tapping a long, thin sword against his hip. He may have been smiling, but it didn’t reach his eyes, which were bright and slightly reddened.

“What are you doing here?” Erik wanted to sound calm and unaffected, but instead his voice sounded rough and hoarse. 

Charles was now taking slow, measured steps towards him, and he sat in Darwin’s chair, those bright blue eyes roaming all over Erik’s chest. “The wedding is tomorrow and already she marks you as hers.”

“It’s tradition,” Erik snapped at him, because a large part of him was absolutely _livid_ with Charles, who seemed content to waltz in and out of Erik’s life as he wanted. “You cannot be here, Charles.”

Charles took in a deep, fortifying breath. “You need to--”

The door swung open and Darwin was laughing as he walked in with a stack of towels, chatting with someone behind him. Azazel, from the sounds of the low, gravelly voice. However, Darwin’s smile slid off his face when he spotted Charles, and he quickly did an about-turn, ushering Azazel out before he could step in. “Oh, Erik’s naked. You don’t want to see that,” he said a little too loudly, so that Erik and Charles could hear him. “Let’s give him a few minutes.”

There was a low grumble from Azazel as Darwin disappeared into the hall again. Once the door closed, Erik let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, thanking the Maker for Darwin’s quick thinking. “You need to get out,” he reminded Charles, even as he greedily drank in the sight of the familiar lines of his face, his earnestness, the red moue of his mouth. 

“No Erik, it is _you_ who needs to leave.” Charles’ proximity was making it hard for Erik to think, but he managed to realise what Charles was saying. “My men are outside now, we are ready to strike.”

“What?” Erik was flabbergasted. “What are you--”

“Listen to me very carefully, my friend,” Charles said slowly and clearly, his eyes locked with Erik’s. “We are here to kill Shaw.”

Erik felt like all the breath had been knocked out of him. “In my house?”

“He doesn’t leave his fortress often, except when it comes to you.” Charles’ mouth was a grim twist. “Erik, you need to take Raven and Darwin and leave, right now. I’m not even supposed to warn you, but--”

“Erik!” Raven’s frightened shout came from next door. “Erik, help!”

The look he and Charles exchanged lasted only the briefest of moments before both of them broke into a sprint at the exact same moment, but Charles was further away from the door, and Erik’s legs were longer. He used the extra microsecond to grab his sabre hanging by the door, and lunged for Shaw’s room where a stricken Raven and Darwin were standing outside the door, looking in with horror. Raven had her hands clasped over her mouth, and Darwin was shaking like a leaf.

Erik paused in the doorway, blood pounding in his ears. The bodies of Shaw’s two personal guards were sprawled on the floor, their throats slit. Shaw was dressed in his sleeping tunic, apparently in the midst of getting ready for bed, and there was a long, blood-smeared _katana_ pressed to his throat. It belonged to the Silver Bandit who was standing behind Shaw, a fist tightened in his hair. She was watching the commotion alertly, but her hand holding the sword never even wavered once. 

“Moira, not in front of them!” Charles was shouting, as a completely shocked Raven and Darwin turned to face him. Erik forgot that for them, they were hearing him talk for the first time. “Let me get them out.”

“You’re wasting time, Charles,” the Silver Bandit - Moira - said, tightening her fist when Shaw tried to wriggle free of her grip. “I said be still, old man.”

There were running footsteps behind Erik, and now Azazel, Janos and the rest of the men were peering into the chamber. Azazel’s eyes were as round as dinner plates when he saw Shaw at the mercy of the Silver Bandit. “What in the name of the Maker--”

“What are we waiting for?” Janos demanded, whipping out his twin blades. “The six of us can easily overpower _her_.” He jerked his head at Moira in disdain.

“Do not underestimate her,” Azazel warned him. “She’s the one who nearly killed Erik.”

“And I will kill your leader,” Moira shouted, “if you do not back out of the room now and leave us.”

“Us?” Janos echoed, while Azazel’s eyes had already slid over to Charles, narrowing in suspicion.

Charles was licking his lips, a nervous tell. “Erik, I tried to warn you about Shaw--”

“Shaw killed your parents,” Moira said flatly, kneeing Shaw in the back as he bellowed in rage. “Or rather, the men who killed them were working for him.”

The stunned silence in the bedchamber was deafening. Even Janos had lowered his weapons in shock. Everyone was staring at Erik, who was struggling to remember how to work his throat and get words out. “Is it true?” he managed.

Now everyone’s heads swivelled to face Shaw, who held Erik’s gaze without flinching. Shaw was silent for a long time before Moira pressed the blade down even harder, and he winced, finally saying, “They were only merchants, Erik.”

There was a sharp gasp from somewhere, probably Raven, but Erik wasn’t looking at her or the others. He was only staring at Shaw, heartbroken and utterly betrayed. Even after so long Erik still could recall his mother’s smile, his father’s steady patience at teaching him how to build a toy ship from leftover metal scraps. “ _Only_ merchants?”

“I had a lot of men working for me, gathering what I needed,” Shaw ground out. “A group of bandits happened to ambush the caravan your parents were travelling in and killed everyone in it.” 

Rage was boiling within the pit of Erik’s stomach, yet he was amazed at how composed he sounded. “Then what about me?” 

“Since you had killed five of their own before being subdued, I was impressed with your skills.” Shaw kept his steady gaze on Erik. “You know that’s why I took you in.”

Erik could see Azazel shaking his head, while Darwin turned away in disgust. Charles was regarding him with sorrowful eyes, as though he had even the slightest inkling of Erik’s pain and anger.

“Look at the man you’ve become, Erik,” Shaw continued, some kind of sick pride obvious in his voice. “If you had stayed with your parents, you would have only been a merchant’s son. Now, you are first in line for the throne to Genosha.”

Erik’s control was starting to fray at the edges, and he desperately wanted to throttle Shaw with his bare hands. “They were my _parents!_ ” he shouted, flecks of spit flying from his mouth. 

“The Maker determined that our paths should cross,” Shaw insisted. “With me in Genosha, and you ruling the Outlands with Emma, think how much further we could go together, and all the lands we could conquer. This world could be _ours_.”

“Shaw, that’s enough,” Charles said severely. “We have the house surrounded. If you will come with us to the capital and face an international tribunal, there may be mercy for you yet.”

“I am the King of Genosha,” Shaw said, with icy disdain. “And kings do not beg for mercy from vigilante guilds.” He turned to Erik, his gaze dropping to the sabre that Erik was clutching. “Erik, end this charade.”

Honestly, Erik, in his bottled-up grief and rage, wanted to stalk over and finish Shaw off himself. The sabre was a solid, familiar weight in his hand. It would be so easy to run the sabre through. But Erik couldn’t bring himself to do it, and he couldn't bring himself to turn on Shaw's attackers - on _Charles_.

His sabre fell to the floor with a sharp clatter, and Shaw’s face was distorted in disbelief. He shook his head wearily. “Fine. Azazel?”

The men all looked to Azazel now for guidance, to see what he would do. Azazel unsheathed his sword, then surprised everyone by handing it to Erik with a bow. “For your family,” he said, nodding towards the now stricken Shaw. “Don't use your sword. Sully mine instead.”

 _For his family_. It was almost strange, how he had long ceased to think of his parents as ‘family', and instead he could only think of the faces of Raven, Darwin, Angel and - most of all, Charles - as the most applicable definition of that word. He took the sword from Azazel, then marched towards Shaw, whose face had gone entirely white.

“Erik, don’t do this,” he said urgently as Erik raised the sword, his vision narrowing down only to the burgeoning panic on Shaw’s face. “I only ever treated you as my son!”

“I never asked for this, for any of this,” Erik shouted, stabbing his finger at Shaw’s chest. The same chest, Erik realised, that Shaw had pressed him against when Erik was twelve and newly orphaned and almost out of his mind with fear and grief and rage. Shaw had taken those things and shown Erik how to harness them and use them to fight, to rule, to be a leader. An ordinary life as a merchant’s son seemed distant and far away, and Erik didn’t want to track down the thought.

Erik’s wavering must have been obvious, because impatience flitted across Moira’s face as her eyes flickered towards Charles, then back at Erik.

“I knew you’d see things my way.” Shaw sounded almost triumphant. “You’ll see--”

But Erik never did get to see, because without warning Moira pushed Shaw’s head forward and ran her _katana_ through him, eliciting a scream from Raven and a shocked cry from Darwin. Then a gurgle from Shaw, his eyes wide and unseeing. Moira impassively pushed his jerking body down to the floor, her katana at the ready just in case. Charles just watched everything grimly, chewing on his lip.

Erik’s hands were cold and numb as he dropped Azazel’s sword with a clatter, and it was only when Charles came to wrap a towel around his shoulders that he realised he was still shirtless, the henna dried and smeared in places. The towel didn’t make a difference, though. Shaw was dead. _Shaw was dead_. The grief that flooded him was inexplicable, because Shaw had been responsible for his parents’ death. But he had been such a large part of Erik’s life too.

“Erik,” Charles’ voice was kind, comforting, his arms warm around Erik. He didn’t say anything else, he didn’t _need_ to. His earlier betrayal now seemed insignificant in the face of Shaw’s treachery. 

Erik covered his face with his hands, releasing a low, anguished sound. “Comrade,” he heard Azazel say solemnly, and the compassionate understanding in his voice broke the floodgates, and Erik clung onto Charles tightly like a sailor to a ship mast in a storm, soaking Charles’ tunic with his tears.


	9. Epilogue

_I wish I could show you, when you are lonely or in the darkness,  
The astonishing light of your own being.  
\- Hafiz of Persia_

* * *

The ceremony for a state funeral in Genosha was relatively simple, compared to the elaborate rituals Charles was used to back home in Westchester. In Genosha, the body was usually buried within a day, and excessive grieving was frowned upon. Before the burial, there would always be a short funeral service, and since this was the Patriarch’s, all flags in the Palace were flown at half-mast, and the staff wore black instead of their green royal uniform.

Erik was leading the prayer service, hands raised in deference to the Maker, and the assembled Genoshans followed his example. Far to the right of the Great Hall, Emma sat with her tribesmen in their own isolated group. She was shrouded in an elegant black lace veil, and although she did not follow the prayer rituals, Charles saw Emma lifting the veil and dabbing at her eyes. She was next on the X-Men’s watchlist, in case she had any retaliation planned in Shaw’s name. Thankfully, she wouldn’t be Charles’ problem anymore. Hank and Sean, along with Moira, had been assigned to keep an eye on her.

A life of secrecy and espionage had its own thrills, especially when he had been younger, but it had also robbed him of many things. Peace of mind, for example, and the chance to properly lead a calm, quiet life without having to pretend to be someone else, or constantly having to look over his shoulder, worried about being found out. His greatest challenge had been his assignment with Erik, of course. It had been humiliating enough to crawl back and ask his stepfather for a favour, and Kurt Marko had agreed to do it for the gold and the familial relationship (but mostly the gold).

“Ready to go home?” Moira said as she sauntered up to him. They were the only two people watching from the back of the Hall.

“Very much so,” Charles said, examining his arms and hands. “Don’t you think it’s strange that despite a year in the desert, I still barely have a tan?”

“You’ll always be whiter than the underbelly of a toad,” she said, neatly dodging his elbow. “So, Erik coming with you?”

“I don’t know,” Charles said, playing with the pendant around his neck. Erik had given it back to him that morning, his face completely impassive and unreadable, before he had headed off to take care of the funeral arrangements. “Shaw named Erik next in line for the throne. Doesn't that make him Patriarch now?”

“Shaw said a lot of things,” Moira said with a scoff. She was now eyeing Charles. “You could stay here with Erik, you know.”

Charles sighed. Making important, life-altering decisions when one was emotionally overwrought was ill-advised. “We’ll see,” he said, more to placate her than anything else.

***

For the next few days, Charles and Moira watched the aftermath of Shaw’s death settle deep into the bones of Genosha. The people mourned him, but they had also been a little afraid of him. In his morning walks around the _souk_ , Charles heard through the grapevine that everyone was expecting Erik to take power any time now, and invite Emma to be his consort. It wasn’t exactly surprising, but even then Charles couldn’t ignore the bitter twist in his chest.

Now that it was clear Genosha wouldn’t be thrown into revolt, Charles and Moira started making plans to head back to Westchester. Charles honestly didn’t know how to say goodbye to Erik again, given the way they had left things last time at the sand dunes. Maybe a quiet departure was the best option.

He had not managed to talk much to Erik, who had been visibly wrestling with a cacophony of mixed emotions since Shaw’s death. Charles had decided that the best policy was to leave Erik be, and he knew whether to seek Charles out (his old room) if he ever needed to. But he hadn’t, and Charles could only guess that Erik was now facing a few difficult decisions he had to make. 

Charles was playing a farewell game of five stones with Aisha in the garden when he sensed someone beside him, and gave Erik a sidelong glance. “I hope you feel better, my friend,” he said sincerely.

Erik nodded, his eyes fixed on the five stones of various colours. “I’ve been busy helping with the wedding.”

Something prickly moved in Charles’ chest. “Helping out at your own wedding?” Charles said, keeping his tone light. “How short of staff are you?”

“Quite short,” Erik said, before he bent over and ruffled little Aisha’s hair. “And besides, it’s not my own wedding.”

“It’s not?” It was hard for Charles to hide his astonishment. “Then--”

“You know how bossy Raven can be,” Erik said, his tone as casual as if he was discussing the weather (no one ever discussed the weather in Genosha, since there was only ever one season: hot). “And Azazel can’t help her, since he is busy at the palace, taking over Shaw’s affairs.”

Charles couldn’t stop the corners of his mouth from quirking upwards. “I’d always rooted for them to get together.” His voice was calm, but when he reached out to pick up one of the coloured stones, his hand gave a telltale tremble.

“Mmmm,” Erik said noncommittally. Now that Charles was directly looking up at him, he could see, for the first time, the brown bag slung over Erik’s left shoulder.

“So what becomes of you, then?” Charles said, just as casual.

“I don’t know,” Erik said. The naked, raw honesty in his voice was a welcome change. “I don’t know where I’m going, but all I know is that I can’t stay.” There was a long pause. “There are too many memories here. So I’ve already signed the deed over to Darwin’s name.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Charles said.

Aisha’s mother called for her to come inside and help, and the little girl scampered inside with a grin. Now that they were alone, Charles felt free to step closer to Erik, to palm a hand against Erik’s stubbly right cheek. “You know, my homeland is lovely this time of year.”

Erik’s laughter was a low, delighted rumble, and his eyes were alight again for the first time since Charles had shown up at the henna session to warn him. “Then I can’t wait to see it,” Erik said, his head tipping down to kiss Charles, the two of them sheltered in the shade of the seventh tree.

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> This fantasy 'verse was not based any particular Middle Eastern or Asian culture. In fact, it was more a hodgepodge of Arabic, Persian, Indian and even Japanese elements. (I had previously stated that it included Chinese elements, which was a mistake and I apologise. Thank you to the commenter who pointed it out.)


End file.
